


Master of Enchantment

by Subversa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:01:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 125,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25683964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subversa/pseuds/Subversa
Summary: It begins the summer after Seventh Year, when the war is raging on, with an unexpected moment of tenderness. What is this inexplicable feeling Hermione experiences? And how can she get Snape to discuss it with her, when all he wants to do is avoid her?This story is A/U, so the war takes place after the trio leave Hogwarts. There are other differences as well!
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Severus Snape, Luna Lovegood/Ron Weasley, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks
Comments: 108
Kudos: 321





	1. Prologue

Master of Enchantment

Book 1: Master of Enchantment

Prologue

It was the summer after seventh year, and the war was at its peak. Hermione was taking her turn in the rotation and manning headquarters, along with Minerva McGonagall. Just past midnight, there was frantic knocking at the door, and Hermione rushed to admit Severus Snape and Remus Lupin with an unconscious Nymphadora Tonks supported between them.

Minerva hurried to assist them as they carried Tonks up to a first floor bedroom and placed her carefully on the bed. With a magisterial calm, Minerva examined Tonks and said, "She has been Stunned, and she hit her head when she fell. I'll sit with her until she wakes up."

Lupin reached out and touched Hermione on the shoulder. "Severus and I need to speak to you, Hermione."

Lupin led her back down to the kitchen where all of the Order members seemed to congregate at headquarters. He sat beside her and spoke to Snape, saying, "Put on the kettle, please, Severus. We could all do with a cup of tea."

Snape acquiesced without a word, reaching for the teakettle. Hermione noticed a cut on his hand and saw that both he and Lupin were the worse for wear, battered and dusty.

"What happened?" she asked.

"We had information-" Lupin glanced involuntarily at Snape, "that your family was targeted by the Death Eaters, but we didn't know when they planned to attack. Tonks and Mundungus Fletcher were keeping your parents' house under guard. Tonight, we found out the Death Eaters were on the move. Severus and I went as quickly as we could, Hermione; we got word to Moody and Shacklebolt, and they were coming too. When Severus and I got to the house, it was empty. Tonks was on the ground in the back garden, unconscious. Dung is dead."

Hermione heaved a terrific sob, and Lupin grasped her hand. Impatiently, Snape turned his back on the teakettle and pulled a bottle of brandy from a cupboard. He poured a measure of brandy into the waiting teacup and pressed the cup into her other hand.

"Drink this, Miss Granger. Slowly." His voice was quiet but commanding. Hermione turned her tear-streaked face up to look at him; after seven years as his student, she was used to obeying his will. Snape's face was impassive, but his eyes were fierce. With a trembling hand, she raised the cup to her lips and sipped the fiery liquid. Immediately, she felt the warmth slide down her throat, beginning to warm and calm her. He nodded his approval, as Lupin spoke again.

"We searched the house, Hermione. There was a fight, that much we know for certain. Your parents weren't there. Now, we don't know that anything bad has happened to them. We sent an alarm, and most of the Order are looking for them now. You mustn't despair. Someone will contact us as soon as they know."

The kettle began to sing, and Remus stood to pour the boiling water into the teapot. Snape moved to take Lupin's seat, wordlessly motioning for Hermione to take another sip of the brandy.

Speaking in his customarily dispassionate tone, Snape continued the story. "We waited for Dumbledore to arrive; he is taking Fletcher's body to his sister. The others went on to search for your parents, and we brought Tonks here. St. Mungo's is being watched by the Dark Lord."

Lupin placed three mugs on the table and poured strong, hot tea for each of them. He topped off each mug with a measure of brandy and pushed one over to Hermione.

"Drink it, Hermione. It will help, I promise you." Hermione thankfully took the second teacup between her trembling hands, grateful for the warmth. Snape watched her until she began to sip the hot liquid. He then quickly drank his own tea, muttered something about a shower, and left the room.

Lupin began to speak to Hermione in a kindly, distracting way, asking about her plans to go to University in Bulgaria at the end of the month and about Ron and Harry beginning their Auror training the next January. He told a story or two about his own days at University until Snape came back into the kitchen, dressed in black slacks and a black suede shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. Lupin looked at him in surprise.

"Having trouble sleeping, Severus?" he asked.

"Minerva asked me to have you step upstairs, Lupin."

Lupin stood to pour another mug of tea. "I'll go up, then," he said, also slipping the brandy bottle into the pocket of his robes. "Hermione, you should try to sleep. Severus, we're leaving in the morning at 7:00?" At Snape's silent nod, Lupin left the kitchen.

"If you have finished your tea, Miss Granger, you may try to sleep now. I will not be sleeping and will cover your shift." Snape's tone was matter-of-fact. His manner implied that he was not offering kindness or assistance, simply stating reality.

Hermione stood up, feeling dazed and frightened, as well as a little drunk. She swayed on her feet, and Snape stepped closer to place a steadying hand on her elbow. She could smell the shampoo he had used to wash his hair and his shaving lotion. He was a full head taller than she, and for the first time, she was aware of the breadth of this man's chest and the wiry strength in his arms. An unfamiliar energy seemed to pour out of him; she felt the power surround her, enter her very being, and her heart began to race. She noted the angle of his jaw, with a surprising fascination, and knew the urge to press her lips to the pulse beating in his throat. When he touched her, she felt her tummy turn over.

Fearlessly, she placed one hand on his chest and looked up into his inscrutable black eyes.

"Please don't send me away, sir," she whispered, gazing up at him imploringly.

For what seemed an eternity, they stood that way in the cozy kitchen at number 12, Grimmauld Place. The palm of her hand, resting beneath his heart, registered the steady, if quickened, cadence. She felt the pressure of his fingers on the bare skin of her arm, almost a caress. Breathless, she watched the normally tight-lipped mouth relax - did she only imagine the softening in his obsidian gaze? What was this force in the air between them, that seemed so viscous, and felt both warm and treacherous? With her free hand, she reached around him, ignoring his instinctive stiffening, not caring that her movement dislodged his hand from her arm, and slowly gathered a great handful of the back of his shirt. She needed this contact, required it, hungered for it. Closing her eyes, she tucked her curly head beneath his chin and pressed her soft body against the angular length of his.

Snape stood, rigid in her embrace. Hermione was oblivious to his discomfort; she felt safe, and comforted, and some other emotion for which she had no name. Clinging to him with her eyes closed, she could see neither the expression of agony on his face nor the clenched fists held deliberately by his sides.

Much too soon, the doorbell chimed, and he put her away from him, striding out of the room without a backward glance. She followed him, hearing excited voices in the hall, and walked right into Ron and Harry, who were sprinting past the other Order members.

"Hermione!" Ron was gasping, out of breath. "We have your parents safe at the Burrow!"

Harry looked at her closely and wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of his hand. "Moody and Shacklebolt were able to get them out of there while Dung and Tonks held the Death Eaters off. Are you okay?"

Ron grabbed her hand and began to pull her toward the door. "We'll take you to them, come on..."

Hermione was only minimally aware of the smiles and arm pats bestowed upon her by the other Order members grouped in the hall, who were removing their cloaks and discussing an impromptu supper of whatever was in the cupboard. Snape stood motionless, the crowd separating them, as Ron tugged on her hand, and Harry herded her from behind. Her, "Thank you, Professor," was lost in the clamor, and he merely inclined his head to her as she was swept away.

She did not see him again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Hermione smiled and shook hands with her well-wishers, appearing to be every inch the proud graduate – but only she knew how hopeless she felt and how empty the days ahead of her loomed.

Her parents were pleased when she agreed to the party they had planned for her homecoming from the University of Bulgaria. Now here she was, surrounded by all of her old school friends and many of her old professors, and all she could notice was the one person who was not present.

She stood and pressed Professor McGonagall's hand before moving on to speak with Professor Dumbledore. Professor Flitwick, deep in conversation with Arthur Weasley and Alastor Moody, waved to her from his perch on one of her parents' bar stools. Harry and Ginny were at the table, laughing with Fred and Angelina over a game of cards. George and Charlie were deep in a Quidditch debate with Seamus and Oliver Wood. Katie Bell sat with Parvati and Lavender, shaking their heads over the sports talk. Ron had a possessive hand on Luna Lovegood, who was earnestly speaking to Remus Lupin. Remus caught Hermione's eye and gave her an imperceptible smile. She smiled back, remembering his one-time avowal that she was the cleverest witch of her age. How would her cleverness help her now?

"A Sickle for your thoughts…"

His whimsical tone always touched her heart. Hermione looked up into the twinkling eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

"I imagine a Knut would be more on mark," she demurred.

"It appears that everyone is having a lovely time – except for the guest of honor," Dumbledore mused, his eyes narrowing as he cast a sidelong look at her.

"Oh, Headmaster, I _am_ happy to see all of you!" Hermione protested.

"As we are happy to see you, my dear. An advanced degree in Charms, as well as Potions, from the University of Bulgaria? Graduation with the highest honors? These are accomplishments of which you may be justifiably proud. Why, then, do I sense melancholy?"

"Just … indecision, sir. I don't know what I want to do now."

"Your next step – yes, let us discuss that, shall we? What are your options?" Dumbledore tilted his teacup to his lips and quirked an inquisitive eyebrow as he took a sip.

Hermione found herself nervously pleating her robe with her fingers. "Durmstrang offered me an assistant teaching position in Potions. Beauxbatons offered me the Charms mistress position for years one through three, and the Ministry of Magic wants to interview me.…"

"…and these choices are not satisfactory?" Dumbledore posed his question in a soft, musing voice.

"All of them are wonderful. I never expected to receive so much recognition." She met his gaze then, momentarily amazed at her own good fortune. "Everyone has been so complimentary. I'm certainly not the only person to ever complete a course of study in two subjects!"

The doorbell rang, and they were momentarily distracted, as Neville Longbottom and his very pregnant wife, the former Hannah Abbott, came into the room. Harry jumped up to clap Neville on the shoulder while Ginny and Alicia ran to embrace Hannah and to ask after the baby. Hermione waved to them, hoping her face did not show the sharp disappointment she felt.

"But you have not been congratulated by everyone, have you, Hermione?"

Feeling momentarily naked to his penetrating gaze, she looked up into his eyes and saw nothing but complete understanding. Abruptly, she decided not to lie.

"No, Headmaster, not by everyone." Horrified, she felt tears fill her eyes.

Surreptitiously, Dumbledore slipped her a snowy handkerchief from the pocket of his midnight blue robes.

"He is a difficult man, my dear. Are you certain there is not another future you would rather pursue?"

Hermione used the handkerchief to blot the damnable tears, careful not to smear her make-up. "I'm not certain that I have any choice in the matter, sir. He doesn't respond to my owls, and he's not here. He has no interest in my future. Obviously."

Dumbledore regarded her for a moment, then said, "Desirable results are worthy of careful planning and hard work; haven't you always found that to be true?"

Hermione bit her lip and looked away. They stood together in silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts. Hermione ached as she watched Harry pull Ginny into his lap and place his hands on her belly where their baby grew. Ron led Luna over to the card table, and Hannah Longbottom smiled as she looked at Luna's engagement ring. Hermione knew that Ron had spent his entire first month's paycheck after Auror training on the moonstone ring on Luna's finger. Their wedding was set for Christmas. She was happy, so very happy, for all of the ones she loved.

But she felt so left out, so outside of their happiness.

Dumbledore touched her shoulder, and she looked up at him, only to find his gaze on Minerva McGonagall, who was now looking at baby pictures with Molly Weasley.

Minerva said, "Molly, the baby looks just like Fleur, only with Bill's hair!" And both of the ladies laughed, watching the red-haired baby girl in the moving photo wave her fists.

Hermione heard Dumbledore say softly, "Do not walk away from love, my dear. It is a rare bird and does not wait forever to be captured and adored. If you walk away from love, it may not be there when you return for it."

At that very moment, Minerva looked up at them and nodded a silent agreement. Molly, distracted from the pictures of her granddaughter, smiled at Hermione. "How is that nice Viktor Krum, dear?"

* * *

Hermione wished her final guests farewell, hugging and kissing Ron and Harry last of all. She knew they were puzzled at her reticence, but she didn't know how to explain her feelings to them. Thankfully, her parents had already gone to bed. Now she would have some blessed peace and silence. Slipping her shoes off, she curled up on the sofa, where she was soon joined by Crookshanks, and the minutes ticked by as she stroked his ginger fur and considered Dumbledore's offer. It was time to plot her next move. She had served through one war, for the good of all wizard-kind. Now she would wage her own war, for her heart's desire.

Hermione was nothing if not determined.

* * *

Hermione Apparated to the gates of Hogwarts and took a moment to get her bearings. The castle rose before her in the early summer dusk, and the beauty of it brought a lump to her throat. So much of her life, the best part of her life, had taken place behind those ancient walls. With her suitcase in one hand and Crookshanks' carrier in the other, she began to walk up the long drive. She heard a loud popping noise behind her, followed by a clatter and some muted cursing. Hermione pivoted and laughed with delight when she saw her old friend, Nymphadora Tonks, sprawled over a bright pink knapsack.

"I am such a klutz!" Tonks fumed, scrambling to her feet.

"You are perfectly Tonks-like!" Hermione said, and she put her luggage on the ground to hug her friend. "I'm so glad to see you! When did you get back from Greenland?"

Tonks gaped at her. "Greenland? Who told you I was in…. no, let me guess…"

And together, the girls said, "Mad-Eye Moody!"

When Tonks finished laughing her hearty laugh, she said, "I was in Wales! For an investigation! Mad-Eye thinks there are plots everywhere. If anyone ever needed a nice Draught of Peace, he's the one."

Seeing Hermione's slight wince at the mention of a potion, Tonks picked up her rucksack and grabbed Crookshanks' carrier in her other hand.

"How are you? I'm sorry I missed the big welcome home party. Was everyone there? Did Ron make a big prat of himself?"

Relieved at the turn of conversation, Hermione picked up her suitcase and began to stroll up to the castle with Tonks.

"Ron is engaged to Luna Lovegood."

Tonks cocked her head to one side. "How do you feel about that?"

Hermione smiled. "Luna is the best person in the world for Ron. They never, ever fight, and she can calm him down and shut him up with one look. It's amazing."

"I didn't think he would ever get over you and Viktor. He was demented on the subject, the last time I saw him." Tonks shook her head in amazement. "What a mouth!"

Hermione grinned at her. "He's almost serene, now, Tonks. He and Luna are deeply in love. Ron never loved me; he just thought he owned me. I was the only female in his orbit that he wasn't related to." With a shrug, she added, "If it hadn't been for Luna, Ron would never have made it through Auror training. Harry and Ginny really believed he was going to bomb out of training, until they dragged him off to a party at Neville and Hannah Longbottom's house. Luna was at the party; she and Ron have been inseparable since that night. Luna always fancied Ron, in her own way. I really hope they'll be happy."

"Well, everybody knows I have the devil's own luck with the blokes," Tonks said mournfully. "I thought that Minerva had asked me to visit because she had some new professor to fix me up with." Tonks' brave little smile was painful to see. "But since you're here, maybe she's just having a pyjama party!"

Hermione shook her head as she and Tonks gave the Whomping Willow a wide berth. "I'm here to help organize the Education Symposium. So maybe there _is_ a mystery bloke." She giggled at Tonks' comical face. "You must be imagining things, Tonks. You are little and cute and funny – lots of men fancy you." She thought to herself, _I know one who does, for certain!_

Tonks stopped for a moment and lay a hand on Hermione's arm. "What happened with Viktor, Hermione? We all thought…."

Hermione smiled softly. "Viktor asked me to stay, Tonks. He wants to marry me. I just couldn't do it. I don't love Viktor that way."

Tonks shook her head. "You don't love Viktor, you don't love Ron – all of these perfectly cool men want you, and you won't have them. What's up with that?"

Hermione shrugged and began to walk again.

Tonks stubbornly stood her ground. "Hermione, I'm remembering a conversation we had when you were just sixteen years old…"

Hermione doggedly continued toward the castle. "I don't know what you're talking about, Tonks," she said over her shoulder.

"…when you and Ginny were telling me your deep, dark love secrets…"

"I'm sure I don't remember a thing about it," she said, not looking back, walking faster.

"…and you said you had a crush on…"

"TONKS!"

Hermione whirled around, her face flushed a bright pink, to see Tonks laughing so hard she had to put down the cat carrier and her knapsack and lean over to catch her breath. Crookshanks, fed up with the slow progress to the castle, put a knowing paw through the bars and released the catch on the carrier so he could scamper off and stretch his legs.

Hermione stormed back to where Tonks was laughing and said in a lowered voice, "Please do NOT embarrass me, Tonks. That was silly school girl stuff. We're all grown up, now."

She had a moment of impatience, waiting for Tonks to promise to behave. Then Tonks's eyes grew wide in comical alarm, and Hermione felt the thrill run down her spine as a soft, sinister voice said, "I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear it."

Turning quickly, Hermione found Severus Snape standing right behind her. His trademark sneer was firmly in place, and his black, heavily lidded eyes bore an expression of benign boredom. Her hungry gaze consumed the inky black hair, now threaded with silver, his pale skin, the hawkish nose, and his unrelieved black attire.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, she said, "G-good evening, Professor Snape."

Snape inclined his head slightly, his eyes never leaving her face, and he said, "Miss Granger."

"Wotcher, Severus?" Tonks said, giving Snape a lopsided grin.

Still watching Hermione's face, Snape said, "Hello, Tonks."

Hermione found herself speechless and immobilized by the strength of his steady regard. She heard Tonks babbling on about how Crookshanks had escaped his carrier and asking after Snape's plans for the summer holiday, and still his black eyes bored into her own soft brown ones. She was unable to think, unable to speak, unable to move, so mesmerized was she by him.

Tonks was winding down to an embarrassed silence and Hermione was trying desperately to break her gaze away from Snape, when a very cheerful, "So, you found them, Severus! Welcome, ladies!" startled her into looking away from him, up the path, to Remus Lupin.

"Remus!" Tonks cried and ran to hug him. "You look smashing!"

"Nymphadora, my dear, you are looking quite wonderful yourself," Lupin replied in a perfectly serious tone. Giving her shoulder a final squeeze, he put her to one side and walked over to take Hermione's hand.

"Welcome, Hermione," he said, smiling down at her. Hermione found herself inspecting him more closely than she had at her parents' home the week before and was pleased to see that she agreed with Tonks' estimation of his condition. His color was good, his eyes were clear, and his robes were new and well-made. Save for the graying of his sandy hair and a few old scars, he looked better and younger than she had ever seen him.

Before she could answer Lupin, Snape spoke again, so close to her ear that she could feel her hair stir with his breath as he said, "Did you hear what he called her? And she didn't scream, protest, or hex him."

Tonks laughed out loud, as did Lupin. Hermione turned a fraction of an inch toward the velvet voice and found Snape's intent stare still focused on her face but with - could it be? - the ghost of a smile on his lips.

She felt herself flush to the roots of her hair and was very thankful for Lupin's gentle grip, which helped her remember where she was. She squeezed his hand and said, "You _are_ looking remarkably well, Remus. I'm so glad."

A youthful grin broke across Lupin's face. "You girls need to stop with the compliments. I think I'm going to blush."

He bent over and retrieved the cat carrier and Hermione's suitcase and began to lead the way to the castle. "Minerva sent Severus out to find you two before dark; we're dining in her quarters this evening, and she told me we are not to be late!"

Tonks linked her arm through Lupin's and began to chat with him about their mutual friends in the Order as they headed for the castle entrance. Before Hermione could take a step in that direction, Snape moved into her path, standing very close to her.

She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the power of his presence, then, with a determined lift of her proud chin, said, "We mustn't keep Minerva waiting."

In a voice full of soft menace, he replied, "But, Miss Granger - anticipation is a dangerous elixir, is it not?"

Steeling herself to look straight into his eyes, she said, "Only if the anticipated event materializes, Professor Snape. Otherwise, pointless waiting is a tease and a bore."

As she moved around him, hoping for a majestic sweep to the castle doors, she heard his amused, "Ten points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger," and she knew she was woefully out of her league.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Just a reminder that this story is Alternate Universe, in which Snape was not a half-blood.

* * *

Chapter 2

Severus Snape sat motionless in the leather wingchair before the fireplace in the staff lounge. The windows were open to the soft breezes of the summer night; in deference to the season, his goblet held a dry Riesling, rather than the brandy he favored in cooler weather.

Dinner in Minerva's quarters had been tedious. Her cooking was passable, at best. The Headmaster joined them, and Severus was aware that Dumbledore was at his interfering best. Dumbledore and Minerva were shamelessly attempting to make a match between Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin. In Snape's opinion, not even a loud-mouthed, clumsy Metamorphmagus with all the feminine charm of a Bowtruckle would want to marry a werewolf – even a werewolf with a new steady job as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. As for the werewolf, he would be lucky to get _any_ woman to marry his defective arse.

Severus glowered as he thought about Lupin. For the second time, Lupin had been selected, over his own application for the job, to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. In the glow of cooperation and tolerance following the war, even a werewolf could become a respectable professional. The improvements to the Wolfsbane Potion meant that he need only spend the nights of the full moon cycle as a werewolf; his days could be spent in the classroom.

It was not as if Severus wished any ill for Lupin. He had never been a friend during their school years, but neither had he been one of Severus' chief tormentors, as James Potter and Sirius Black were. In their time serving in the Order during the war, Severus and Lupin had developed an easy working relationship. Not a friendship – never a friendship; Severus neither had, nor desired, friends.

Severus sat forward and poured another goblet of wine, then drained half of it. He did not enjoy reminiscing. There were very few fond memories from his past that he would voluntarily recall. However, a crisis was upon him now, and he was brooding.

Hermione Granger. The insufferable, buck-toothed, bushy-haired, know-it-all little pain-in-the-arse of a Gryffindor student with that preposterous name had become an alluring, educated, enticing woman with a head of soft brown curls, perfectly proportioned teeth – hell, perfectly proportioned everything, as far as one could discern in those damn robes – and eyes the color of amber in firelight. She was a threat and he was giving her hell for it, but he needed a plan.

* * *

It wasn't until this morning at breakfast that Albus and Minerva had dropped on him the bombshell that the 157th Annual Wizarding Education Symposium would be held at Hogwarts on August 22, and that Severus had the happy chore of organizing the event. To assist him with the added burden of this onerous task, they were hiring an assistant to whom he could delegate much of the work.

Never at his best before ingesting a judicious quantity of caffeine, it did not occur to Severus until after his fourth cup, in his study, while idly perusing an alchemy journal, that Dumbledore had been entirely too blasé about the whole assistant question. Undoubtedly, he was to be saddled with some nitwit who would drive him insane with ineptitude.

Immediately, he stood and threw Floo powder into the fireplace.

"Headmaster Albus Dumbledore."

Dumbledore's head appeared as if suspended in air above the grate.

"Yes, Severus?"

Severus sat on the low stool by the hearth and asked, "May I inquire as to the identity of the assistant I am to have?"

"Certainly. A former student, who has completed the University coursework and has not yet accepted a position, is currently free and has agreed to help out for the summer."

Severus found himself with a curiously tight grip on the container of Floo powder, but did not react when it shattered in his grasp and dusted his clothing with glittering flecks. She had outfoxed him. Ignoring her owls and party invitations was not enough of a snub. He would be saddled with Hermione Granger, working daily, in close approximation, for the longest summer of his life.

"You mean, Headmaster, Hermione Granger."

"Well, yes, Severus. How ever did you guess?"

After lunch, Severus requested a meeting with Dumbledore, who graciously agreed to see him at two o'clock.

At the appointed time, Severus approached the gargoyles guarding the Headmaster's office and said, "Pepper Imp," gaining entrance to the revolving staircase. In the office, Dumbledore greeted him and sat regarding Severus gravely.

"Headmaster, when I was injured in the battle at the Riddle estate, I was unconscious for three days. You told me you used Legilimency to ascertain what I had discovered of the Death Eaters' plans and their whereabouts."

Severus stopped, at an uncharacteristic loss for words. Of all the people in the world, only in the presence of this man could he let down his guard. It did not, however, make it any easier for him to expose the least particle of vulnerability.

Dumbledore spoke into the silence. "You wonder if perhaps I became aware of information that did not pertain to the Dark Lord's movements."

Severus nodded and made eye contact with Dumbledore, who stated, "There were many thoughts very close to the surface, no doubt due to your belief that you were about to die, Severus. Images of your parents, of your childhood, moments with Lord Voldemort, and with other Order members, were at the forefront of your mind when you were injured."

There was a certain desperation in Severus's expression as he opened his mouth to speak but was forestalled by Dumbledore, who held up his hand in a halting gesture.

"Yes, Severus, I witnessed your moment with Hermione Granger when she was in fear of her parents' lives. No, she has not been invited to Hogwarts to assist with the Education Symposium as a matchmaking attempt. I am fully aware of your sentiments on the subject, in spite of the – let us say, Special Circumstances – that exist between you. I do not, however, see why Miss Granger should be penalized when she wishes to accept the temporary position of Assistant Symposium Coordinator."

Severus sat for a moment, staring at his hands in his lap. Special Circumstances? Dumbledore was right on top of the game, per usual. Abruptly, Severus stood, his eyes still averted, and said, "Thank you, Headmaster. I appreciate your frankness. I will not take any more of your time."

Severus left as quickly as possible, unaware of Dumbledore's indulgent smile or of the carefully crossed fingers hidden beneath the Headmaster's desk.

* * *

Severus moved to the window in the staff lounge; the air was turning cool, and it was time to close it. The sight of Hermione, strolling the grounds in the starlight, caused him to close his eyes and press his forehead to the cool windowpane.

How he despised weakness! His father was so weak, such a drunkard, and a bully, dealing with his wife and son with his fists and with cruel hexes and curses. His mother was so weak, cowering before his father, submitting to his tyranny, making such feeble attempts to shield her only child from the brutality of her husband. Severus burned with anger as he recalled how his father had destroyed her wand and forced her to do her own housework without magic, like a Muggle. He raged inside as he recalled the penury of their home, the hand-me-down, shabby clothes he was forced to wear, relics of the Snape cousins he was seldom allowed to see. And all the while, his bastard of a father wore fine clothes, had expensive liquor, expensive tobacco, and expensive women, all of which he was not above flaunting in the faces of his long-suffering wife and his furious son.

Severus' only solace was the dusty boxes of magic books in the cellar. His mother once told him that the books had been his grandfather Snape's library. From the time he began to read, at the age of five, he would sit, poring over the books. He was convinced that somewhere in these manuals was the answer to his father's violence. If he learned the proper spell, his father wouldn't be so angry all of the time and would love Severus and his mother. He began with the illustrated texts, demonstrating how to use one's wand, transfiguration exercises, and elementary potion-making. As his comprehension grew, he delved into the volumes with no pictures, books full of ever-darker magic. As he read his way through his grandfather's collection, his eager brain stored the tantalizing information. When he opened the last box and saw the aged spell books, some written in English so old he could barely decipher it, he felt a thrill of power.

He had just turned eleven and would be starting at Hogwarts in the fall. He had not found the magic to make his father love him, but he could acquire the capacity to make his father cower and quail before him.

The ancient tomes were the first things he packed in his Hogwarts trunk, and he proudly displayed them in his Slytherin dormitory. Among his peers, the Dark Arts texts were equally attracting and repelling. His knowledge made him a useful ally; it also made him a dangerous enemy.

Severus forced himself to walk away from the window, from which he could see Hermione. Taking the bottle of wine, he upended it, pouring the remaining liquid into his goblet and tossed off the lot. He placed the goblet back on the table and squared his shoulders. Fortitude came from recognizing and capitalizing on your assets. He had identified his strengths early in his school career. He was a sneaky little bastard, as Lucius Malfoy, who was a seventh year when Severus began at Hogwarts, so aptly phrased it. Severus was loyal to his House, Slytherin, and had no scruples about screwing over anyone outside of it. He caught on quickly and was an ambitious student who excelled in all of his classes, except for flying lessons. He mortified himself the first day of flying class by falling from his broom like a Muggle child on a bicycle, while the girl next to him laughed at him and the boys hooted and jeered. Severus did not suffer humiliation well. It scalded him like acid and reminded him of being in the presence of his father.

His father did not fancy the notion of his clever, tyrannized, and incensed son with a wand in his hand. For that reason, Severus spent his holidays and his summers at Hogwarts from age eleven on. His mother was permitted to communicate with him by owl, and his father would grudgingly supply the minimum amount of gold necessary to buy robes and books each year – second-hand, of course – but other than that, Severus was like a foundling without a home.

He spent those summers at Hogwarts, enjoying an autonomy he had never known before. He studied the subjects that appealed to him (the Dark Arts), practiced his wand work (hexes, the better to attack Potter and Black), and experimented with potions, for which he had an unusual flair. For relaxation, he took one of the school brooms to the Quidditch pitch and taught himself to fly through trial and error, without the mocking eyes of his classmates to scorn him to shame. His activities were casually directed by the teachers who were in and out, involved in their own summer pursuits. It was not surprising that he got excellent marks in each subject he attempted in his O.W.L. year, nor that he did the same on his N.E.W.T.s.

His father was wise to eschew the company of the son who abhorred him, for Severus grew into a powerful wizard, an authority to be reckoned with, whose calling was potion-making, but whose passion was the Dark Arts.

Oddly enough, by the time Severus left Hogwarts, he no longer cared to revenge himself upon his father or to rescue his mother from her chosen slavery. He went on to University, and in his first year there, his parents died in a house fire, no doubt caused by his father's pathetic habit of smoking in his bed. In attending to their obsequies, Severus discovered that years before, his mother had inherited a small family estate with a house and grounds, including a monthly stipend of gold. It had been his father's practice to take all of the gold each month and spend it on himself. The estate had been neglected; Severus knew that his father would never have permitted his wife to move to a place where she would have any natural allies against his brutality. They had died in the shabby house where Severus had lived his childhood years. Now, at the age of 19, Severus was finally free of his parents. At last, he had gold and property of his own, with no more family ties, however tenuous. It was an independence he had never known before.

But by then, he had already come to the attention of Lord Voldemort, whose many interesting projects for Severus constituted slavery of a different sort.

His unfortunate manner and personal habits continued with him until he returned to Hogwarts as a teacher. In spite of his dalliance with the Dark Lord, Albus Dumbledore believed him, trusted him, and accepted him. Dumbledore also began to quietly instruct Severus in matters of personal hygiene as well as demeanor. Severus accepted this subtle tutoring with a gratitude he was incapable of expressing. He would never win Witch Weekly's Congeniality Award, but he learned how to conduct himself in polite company, how to groom himself appropriately, and even, at the behest of Minerva McGonagall, the niceties of ballroom dancing.

For the last ten years, Dumbledore and McGonagall had been encouraging him to marry. Privately, he could not imagine the woman he could endure for longer than a good weekend of shagging.

Severus had a well-ordered, controlled life. He had meaningful employment, facilities for his personal research, contact with other professional people among the Hogwarts staff, and time for his infrequent recreational pursuits. When he wanted a woman, he bought one. He had never had an ongoing sexual relationship, much less a romance, with a female. He had no use for love. He had seen love first-hand. His mother's "love" for him, her "love" for his father – love made him ill.

But these people, the staff at Hogwarts, were his family. His unspoken devotion to Dumbledore was the closest approach to affection that he permitted himself. His cold demeanor might not provide much in the way of reciprocation for the other teachers' inclusion of him in their lives at Hogwarts, but he served them in other ways, such as brewing potions, and undertaking administrative tasks. This place was his home. He was respected and accepted here. For all the healing, learning, and growing he had experienced in his adult life, Severus still could not abide vulnerability on any front. He would never, ever voluntarily place himself in a position that could result in ridicule. His rigid control over every aspect of his life was his security.

There, then, was the answer to the riddle of what to do about Miss Hermione Granger. Nothing. He would continue to repel her personally, in every way, at every opportunity, while maintaining a civil (by his standards) working relationship. Above all, he must have no physical contact with her, Special Circumstances be damned. It was only one summer, after all.

Some forms of comfort were forever beyond him, so he had to take his pleasures where he found them – usually cowering in his Potions classes.

Before he knew it, there would be a whole new class of first year Gryffindors for him to torment.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3

Hermione twisted her hair up into a knot and stuck a pencil through it, fanning the back of her sweaty neck with a piece of parchment. July was turning the castle into a steam bath, it seemed. Her crumpled robes were in a heap on the table; even her sleeveless white scoop neck top and navy blue shorts were too many clothes to be wearing today. Leaning her cheek upon her hand, she closed her eyes and imagined a dip in the lake. Soon, she began to doze.

"Comfortable, Miss Granger?"

With a start, she opened her eyes and jerked her head up, dislodging the pencil in her hair and sending it flying across the staffroom. Professor Snape stood inside the doorway, impeccable as ever in his black coat and his robes. He immobilized the flying pencil with a flick of his wand and sent it floating back to the table. For a moment, Hermione was confused and felt like a student interrupted in wrong-doing.

"I was just resting my eyes," she said crossly, rubbing these offending orbs to clear the sleep from them.

Snape raised his eyebrows, curled his lip, and glanced at her wrinkled robes, piled haphazardly on the table.

"If you say so." He closed the staffroom door and walked behind her, glancing at the schedule she had been working on. "Still not finished with the symposium itinerary? What a pity. I was about to tell you to take the rest of the afternoon off."

Hermione shifted in her seat, feeling somehow underdressed and oddly wrong-footed. She said waspishly, "I don't need _your_ permission to take the afternoon off." A trickle of perspiration began to course down the back of her neck. She whirled around to glare at He-Who-Does-Not-Perspire, only to find him ... was he looking down her top?

Snape immediately went on the offensive. "If you wish to work as my assistant on this project, you will follow my directions. Otherwise, Miss Granger, you can," his eyes flicked contemptuously over her disheveled state, "take yourself off to the seashore, or wherever that costume would be acceptable."

Merlin but he was obnoxious! Hermione pushed herself up and stepped into Snape's personal space, noting with narrow-eyed satisfaction his involuntary step back. She followed him, ignoring the frisson of excitement she experienced from mere proximity to him. "In case you haven't noticed, Professor Snape, it's broiling inside. _Broiling!_ So I am going to dress comfortably. If you find that unacceptable, you can…"

Their delightful tête-à-tête was cut short as the staffroom door thudded open, and Tonks erupted into the room. She was wearing jeans, a tie-dyed tee-shirt and leather sandals, her toenails were painted bubble gum pink, and her hair its own, natural light brown color—for once.

"Wotcher, Hermione!" she said cheerfully, tossing her rucksack on top of Hermione's robes. "All right, Severus?" she added, not wishing to exclude him.

Hermione jumped back from Snape, and his nostrils flared in satisfaction at her retreat. He nodded a greeting to Tonks while keeping a weather eye on Hermione, as if she were too unpredictable for him to turn his back on her. "Back for the weekend, Tonks?" he inquired.

Tonks grinned at him. "No, I've come to kidnap you lot for the weekend."

Hermione goggled at her. "Leave Hogwarts? For the whole weekend?"

Tonks flopped down on a chair, and Hermione followed suit, her hopeful eyes fixed on Tonks's face, Snape all but forgotten in the lure of cooler pastures.

"Will there be shade, Tonks?" she asked. "And breezes and cold drinks?"

It had been a tense two weeks. Each morning she reported to Snape's office for her work assignments; each afternoon she delivered her completed work to him. He handed her the daily task without looking up from his own ledgers and received the completed papers back with a muttered thanks and no eye contact. The man was infuriating! After a damn-near flirtatious greeting upon her arrival, he had retired into himself again as if nothing had ever happened between them. The only time he would look at her was at meals, when he could occasionally be drawn out to speak to her. She was pleased to find out that they shared certain literary interests and could talk quite naturally on authors ranging from Chaucer to Dickens to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Snape tended to disappear as soon as he finished eating his meals, and he was seldom seen in the staffroom. She was virtually never alone with him and was finding it bloody impossible to further her plan at all.

Tonks pulled two ordinary-looking door keys from her jeans pocket and showed them to Hermione. "One of my mates at work took a couple of rooms at an inn, right near the shore. He can't go this weekend, so he offered the place to me, and naturally, I thought of you lot." Tonks looked from Hermione to Snape with suppressed excitement. "Go on, you know you want to! We can just laze around, drink lots of fancy drinks with pink umbrellas, and gossip about everyone we know. It'll be brilliant."

Snape's lips thinned derisively. "I think not."

Hermione grabbed a key out of Tonks' hand. "Paradise, Tonks. It sounds divine."

Remus Lupin strode into the room, a knapsack in his hand. He wore a light blue polo shirt, neatly tucked into his jeans, and deck shoes with no socks. He dropped the knapsack onto the tabletop and crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Come on, you two, time's a-wasting. If we hurry, we can be there in time for the sunset over the sea and at least one pitcher of some Muggle frozen drink concoction." He mused for a moment. "Maybe two."

"I thank you, but no," Snape said, and turned on his heel.

Lupin barred the staffroom door. "Come on, Severus, I won't make you drink crass Muggle cocktails. For you, only the driest gin." Lupin winked at the girls and smiled engagingly.

Tonks entered into the group wheedle. "Look, Severus – two rooms – one for the girls and one for the boys. I know Remus snores like a troll – " a snort from Lupin at that – "but it will do you good to get away from Hogwarts. And I know you have swim trunks, because Minerva told us you went on holiday to St Tropez one summer." Tonks waggled her eyebrows at him. "Girls in bathing suits and food other than standard school fare."

Lupin looked pensive. "Be a sport, old man. If they drag me out to dance clubs every night, I'll go spare trying to keep up with both of them. Show some solidarity, bloke to bloke."

Hermione sat quietly in her chair, trying not to breathe and clutching the key so tightly that it bit into her palm. _Say yes, say yes, say yes_ , she chanted in her mind, while she watched Snape's face for his reaction to the cajoling. His expression darkened when Lupin mentioned dancing with both girls, but he bore the air of a man politely rebuffing an invitation of dubious sincerity. As she observed him, she realized that he did not believe Tonks and Lupin really wanted him to come. Suddenly, all of her animosity towards him fell away; she walked over to him and put her hands on his sleeve.

Tonks was taking the mickey out of Lupin for being too old to dance the night away; Lupin was loudly and playfully defending himself. In the confusion, Snape looked down at Hermione's hands on his sleeve and then let his eyes travel from her hands to her face. He quickly calculated the benefits versus the risks of this proposed outing; it was dangerous to leave his comfort zone, but going on holiday could mean the advent of Holiday Severus, who operated outside the constraints placed on Professor Snape. Recklessly, before Hermione could speak, he said, "I will come with you, if only to see you in the environment actually appropriate to your clothing." Gently shaking her off, he said over his shoulder, as he walked away, "Better get cracking, Miss Granger. No doubt we will all be waiting while you pack."

Hermione felt weak with relief and a bit giddy at Snape's sudden acquiescence. "I'll bet you the price of the first round of drinks that I will be packed and at the gates before you will, Professor," she said to the back of his head.

"You're on," he replied, as he swirled out of the room in his long black robes.

* * *

The inn was small but the rooms were nice and the view was breathtaking. Hermione hung her clothes in the wardrobe while Tonks checked out the bathroom. Each room contained two double beds, a wardrobe, and a dresser holding a television set and a video recorder. There was also a sitting area, consisting of two chairs arranged before the glass doors. The girls threw the draperies wide and opened the French doors out onto the terrace, which held a white wrought iron table with a large blue umbrella and four wrought iron chairs with blue cushions. The sun was setting in a fabulous blaze of glory over the ocean. As the sun went down the temperature followed; soon, Hermione was glad of the light hooded jacket she had brought.

She heard her name and looked over to see Lupin, followed by Snape, swinging their long legs over the railing that separated one terrace from the other.

"Where is Tonks?" Lupin asked, crossing to the French doors. "Not watching that infernal telly, is she? Come out, Nymphadora Tonks! Hungry men await your presence so they can have their dinners!"

Tonks wrinkled her nose at Lupin from across the room, where she was primping at the mirror. "Look, I can have my violet hair, Remus," she said in a somewhat pleading tone.

Lupin muttered a mild oath and entered the room.

Hermione found herself distracted by Snape's movement as he folded his long form into one of the chairs. She had been having a hard time keeping her eyes off of him, ever since he had met her in the castle entrance hall, with his light bag in his hand. "I guess we tied," he had said, taking her own bag from her hand. "That means Lupin has to buy the first round."

He had smirked at her and led the way down the path to the gates. He wore what looked like a black silk shirt, unbuttoned at the throat with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. The shirt was tucked into a pair of tight black jeans, and he was wearing black trainers. Hermione had never seen so much of his skin or so much of his body, and she had certainly never seen him in Muggle clothing of the type she and her friends wore. Her mouth had been dry and her palms sweaty, just looking at him. In fact, they still were. She shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans to dry them.

"Are you hungry?" Snape's silky voice inquired now, recalling her from her reverie. She stared at him very hard, looking for signs of an intended double meaning, but his expression was no more or less sarcastic than usual.

"Yes, I am hungry. I'll go see if I can hurry Tonks along." Hermione moved through the French doors, away from him.

* * *

Severus watched her retreating form, taking in all the details. Her hair had been smoothed and was twisted up on her head. Curly tendrils framed her face and the back of her delectable neck. Her hip hugging jeans reminded him vividly of the Muggle fashions of his youth, but the tiny tee-shirt, which showed a small expanse of skin above the jeans, was strictly a current fad among the young. He knew that his mouth was watering for the woman, rather than the promised dinner. Deliberately, he looked away to where the last magenta and gold streaks were disappearing in the evening sky; surreptitiously, he wiped his palms on the black jeans.

Severus had been fairly certain Hermione was behind him, staring at his arse, as they walked away from the castle earlier. It served her right, for wearing those shorts and that skimpy top in the staffroom, showing her legs and her barely-covered breasts to him. Two could play at that game. He was not quite certain how he was going to withstand the sight of her in a swim suit, but he was determined to be brave.

Severus was on holiday, and his motto had ever been: What Happens On Holiday, Stays On Holiday.

Just how he was going to communicate these perfectly rational rules to Hermione had not yet occurred to him.

* * *

In the room, Lupin and Tonks were in a rather impassioned discussion.

"Your own hair is lovely."

"Remus, I don't go _out_ like this – be a mate, let me change it…" her voice trailed off as she screwed up her face to make her hair turn violet.

"No. We agreed: no morphing."

Tonks turned on him with a sudden ferocity. "Don't you listen? I never go out looking like this, like myself – it's daft!"

Lupin stood up from the end of bed where he had patiently waited for her to finish her outburst and towered over her. "You will go out with me exactly as you are." His tone was final and brooked no argument.

"I can be cuter. Really." She looked almost as if she would cry.

Lupin took her small hand and brought it to his lips. "You accept me, 'Dora, exactly as I am. I accept you the same way. Morph your appearance for work, if you must, or for yourself, if you like, but when you're with me, I want you entirely as you are."

Tonks blushed crimson and turned away from him to apply lipstick to her mouth. Lupin stepped up behind her and looked into the reflection of her eyes in the mirror. "You are a right dish just the way you are, silly girl. Now, come to dinner – I'm starving."

In the mirror, he spied Hermione, hovering uncertainly in the background. "You're hungry, right, Hermione? I know Severus is hungry, and if we don't hurry he may start gnawing on passers-by."

Lupin herded Tonks toward the door, grabbing her jacket from one of the double beds, and shooed Hermione out onto the terrace as well. "Severus, getting a witch out the door when you're hungry is the work of ten wizards. Why did we decide to start hanging around with this lot?"

Snape rolled his eyes as he pushed himself out of the chair and followed the others down the terrace steps to the walk. "Because one of them provided accommodations for this little outing, perhaps?" he suggested.

Lupin nodded sagely. "Too right – she did! Good move on our part."

Tonks slugged him on the arm, but he only smiled at her.

"Where is this pub, exactly?" Snape asked, sounding resigned to his fate of inane company.

"Down the corner," Tonks told him and linked her arm with his.

Snape looked a bit surprised, but he courteously accepted his role as escort down the street.

Hermione put her hands in her jacket pocket and smiled up at Lupin as they began to follow their companions. "That was absolutely brilliant, what you said to Tonks back there, Remus."

"Nonsense. It was truth, plain and simple. I wish I knew who drummed it into her head that there's anything wrong with the way she looks. A good hex would sort them out straight away, I imagine." Both of them checked their sleeves for their wands, and grinned at each other. "Why do I feel so unarmed every time I go into a Muggle establishment?" Lupin lamented.

"Buck up, Remus, you'll feel better after the first pitcher," Hermione said as they followed Tonks and Snape into the pub.

They found a large circular banquette in a darkened corner, away from many of the Muggle holiday-makers who had apparently already imbibed quite a bit.

"Ladies first," Lupin said, motioning for Tonks and Hermione to scoot across the padded seat. He and Snape stepped up to the bar and placed their orders.

Tonks poked Hermione. "Quit gawping. Even Severus is going to notice that kind of pathetic drooling."

Hermione tore her eyes away from him and slapped at Tonks' poking finger. "Oh, mind your own business. I can't help myself." Then, rather pitifully, she said, "Am I really pathetic?"

"Hopeless. There's only one cure." Tonks leaned close to her ear. "You have to shag him into next week."

Hermione turned a speculative eye on her friend. "Tonks, are you and Remus…"

"No!" Tonks stared at her in comical dismay. "Are you daft? He's amazing. He could have anyone he wants."

"Tonks, he just kissed your hand and called you a dish, and – "

Tonks became engrossed in the contents of her coin purse. "It's habit with him. We had some assignments together during the war, and we got to be good friends." There was a rather rueful look on her heart-shaped face. "He thinks I have something he calls 'poor self-esteem.' He's just being a mate, getting me to buck up and think more of myself, you know."

Hermione tried again. "Tonks, listen. I really believe that Remus is attracted to you."

Tonks shook her head stubbornly. "I've had boyfriends, Hermione. I know how a bloke acts when he fancies me. Remus has never put one toe over the line." She looked across the room at the two men leaning on the bar, one laughing, the other sneering, and gave an audible sigh. "He thinks of me as a friend – or a sister, maybe."

Lupin and Snape walked back to the table with the drinks. Lupin carried a pitcher of margaritas and three cocktail glasses, the stems threaded through the fingers of one hand. Snape carried a highball glass of clear liquid over ice. Lupin slid in next to Tonks, and Snape took the place next to Hermione.

"Four fish-and-chips coming up," Lupin informed them, pouring the margarita concoction into the three cocktail glasses and handing them out to the girls.

"Remind me again why we're eating at this _drinking_ establishment?" Snape queried dryly, leaning back and swallowing a portion of his own drink.

"Because we wanted a bit of food to keep us from getting sick on the drink, mate," Tonks told him, raising her glass. "To mini-breaks at the beach!"

Lupin and Hermione raised their frivolous drinks and waited until Snape grumbled and touched his glass to theirs.

* * *

They were on the third pitcher when the truth-telling began.

After the first pitcher, Snape gave in and allowed Hermione to pour a margarita for him. They ate the fish-and-chips, watched the Muggles throwing pointy instruments at an oddly segmented board ("I'm telling you, the game is called DARTS," Hermione insisted), observed some of the Muggles dancing, and they talked, and they laughed. Well, Snape didn't laugh, but he did snort a time or two.

They reminisced about their school days at Hogwarts, when they were each students. Thankfully, Lupin and Snape kept their memories to general topics and did not re-live ancient history. They each told their most and least favorite classes and teachers. When Tonks, followed by Hermione, said that Snape had been their least favorite teacher, his lips quirked up on one side, and he sketched a bow from his seat. "We aim to please," he assured them obnoxiously.

Lupin and Tonks, who had both been in close quarters with Snape at one time or another during their work for the Order, exchanged a look. They had never seen him so loose and talkative and human. It was gratifying, but also alarming, because there was no precedent for where this behavior would take him.

Neither of them had ever met Holiday Severus before.

They imbibed more tequila-laced margaritas, and Tonks followed up with the topic of her first shared fumble at school. She was quite droll, telling the story of meeting a fellow student on the Astronomy Tower one night. "Old Charlie got the surprise of his life when he found out I wasn't wearing any knickers…"

Lupin reminisced about his first time, in sixth year, in an empty dungeon classroom – "No, a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," he answered Snape's snide query.

Snape made a "Phhht," sound, and said, ticking each point off on his long fingers, "If you were in the dungeons, it was a Slytherin, because there wasn't a Hufflepuff girl in our year you'd have looked at twice. It had to be a prefect, because you wouldn't risk a non-prefect endangering your position. It was either Belinda Flint or Mary Nott." He watched Lupin's astonishment with a self-congratulatory smirk, and offered his empty glass for a refill.

"Well, Severus, you were the observant one, apparently. I have no clue with whom _you_ took a tumble." Lupin gave Snape a feral grin and took a sip of his drink.

"Well, you wouldn't know the lady, Lupin. She wasn't at Hogwarts." Snape's manner was almost a dare.

"Met a stranger on holiday, did you?" Tonks inquired a bit drunkenly.

"No," Snape said, drawing his words out sardonically. "When we left school, all the seventh-year boys in Slytherin were given a gift by a Slytherin alumnus – Lucius Malfoy, actually." He paused for effect. "Twenty-four hours in an expensive brothel. In Paris."

Lupin's mouth sagged open. "Twenty-four hours? At the age of eighteen?" He shook his head sadly. "Now I wish I'd been a Slytherin," he mourned to Tonks, who punched his shoulder.

"Hush your mouth, Mr Squiffy. It's Hermione's turn."

* * *

Hermione was a bit squiffy herself. She was loving the way Snape was loosening up, loving the occasional bumps of his hand or knee under the banquette table, loving her dear friends, Tonks and Remus, having the loveliest time – and then she heard the topic of conversation.

Merlin's beard, she did NOT want to answer this question. She should make something up, but her brain was blank; she couldn't think of a single lie to tell. She _could_ throw Viktor under the bus, poor thing, but he wasn't here to defend himself and that would be really low. She _could_ refuse to answer, but it would be so childish. Oh, how utterly humiliating, twenty-one years old and never been…

They were all looking at her now, Lupin and Tonks with drunken sincerity, and Snape with unholy amusement – was the git looking _smug_? Did he dare?

"Hermione?" Tonks prompted again.

Too late, the drunken Lupin discerned Hermione's predicament, and said, "Oh, Merlin, look at the time, they're going to close the place with us still in it..."

It was a brave attempt, but Hermione paid him no mind; she was staring at Snape's face. He was now very attentive and focused on her. "I didn't take a tumble at Hogwarts. I haven't. Ever. Yet."

Hermione did not stop to analyze Snape's startled reaction to her revelation. Speaking with the exaggerated enunciation of drunks everywhere, she said, "Would you let me out, please, Professor Snape? I need to visit the Ladies'."

Snape moved across the banquette with alacrity, allowing her to escape the suddenly close confines of the booth. She took three steps and turned back to the table, drilling all three of them with a slightly out-of-focus glare. "Not for lack of offers, mind you." Then she continued her weaving trek to the loo.

* * *

Severus watched her go off to the Ladies', his expression carefully schooled to indifference.

Merlin's beard! A virgin – a twenty-one-year-old virgin, of all the freakish bad luck. All that time living in Potter's and Weasley's pockets, two years of war, three bloody years with that Krum fellow in Bulgaria, and she couldn't manage to rid herself of her virginity. Well, that was a sobering thought, if ever he had one. Damn, damn, damn.

Stalking to the bar, he paid their tab and waited for Hermione to return from the bathroom. Sodding Lupin and Tonks could damn well stay the night if they wanted. Apparently they did not want, as they joined him at the door. Hermione came back from the loo and pushed out the exit door with an air of studied nonchalance.

* * *

Of one accord, the four began the short walk back. As they approached the front of the inn, Tonks turned with a look of absolute mischief on her face.

"There's an indoor pool." Her voice was excited but hushed. "Fancy a dip?"

Lupin cocked his head to one side and surveyed the detached structure at which Tonks was pointing. "Nothing like a swim after a night of drinking," he mused.

Hermione was looking from one to the other of them in horror. Were they mental? "The pool has been closed since ten o'clock," she hissed, indicating the posted hours. "We'll get thrown out if we wake anyone!"

Tonks pointed her wand at the door and muttered, " _Alohomora_."

Lupin pushed the pool room door open and entered, casting a Silencing Spell.

Hermione stood rooted to the spot. "But our swim suits!"

Snape was leaning a shoulder against the side of the building, regarding her with an almost predatory gleam. "By all means, Miss Granger, go retrieve your suit. You are a _singular_ person, after all." He glanced through the door into the pool area. "Providentially, Tonks remembered her knickers tonight – she's swimming in her undergarments."

Hermione brushed past him into the pool enclosure, where she saw Tonks and Lupin splashing about in their under things. Singular, was she? Because she was a virgin? Was he going to taunt her about that on a daily basis ?

Hermione threw her jacket onto a chaise and tugged her tee-shirt over her head, tossing it onto the pile. Unfastening her wide leather belt, she kicked off her sandals and then wriggled out of her jeans. Without looking left or right, she dove into the water and came up sputtering. "It's cold!"

She swam to the side, prepared to pull herself out of the pool and retrieve her wand from the chaise. Snape's voice, directly above her, halted her.

"I'll cast the Warming Spell. Stay in the water."

"Thanks," she answered. She didn't move away from the side, but treaded water and watched Snape's wand technique.

With a smirk, he looked directly into her eyes. "Satisfactory, Professor Granger?" he inquired with mock concern.

Hermione shrugged. "Nice wand work. It got the water warm." With a sudden surge of inspiration, she splashed his jeans-clad legs. "See? Warm water." Then she turned and swam quickly into the middle of the pool.

Snape placed his wand carefully on the poolside, and toed off his black trainers. Next he shed the black silk shirt, quickly followed by the tight black jeans.

Hermione, who was watching from the safety of the opposite side of the pool, observed the purposeful stripping hungrily. His skin was like alabaster, as if it had never seen the sun. There was a smattering of black hair on his chest and a mind-boggling line of the same hair down his flat belly. She wondered what activities he was involved in that kept his frame so lean and his wiry muscles so taut. Silently urging him on, she watched him peel out of the jeans, and saw, to her deep satisfaction, tight black briefs. Her glimpse was brief indeed, because he was in the water swiftly, and she realized she was in trouble now, because he was heading straight for her, with a determined glower on his face.

Hermione squeaked and swam for the shallows, where Tonks and Lupin were lounging, conducting a lazy conversation. Snape changed his course in the water and continued his pursuit. Hermione reached the others and slipped between them, then behind them.

"Where are you going, Hermione?" Lupin asked, while Tonks laughed.

"Away from _him_!" she said, pointing at the advancing Snape with increasing alarm.

Snape was in the shallows now and stood, walking toward her. "You splashed me, Miss Granger," he commented.

Hermione grabbed Tonks' arm. "Help me!" she whispered frantically.

Tonks stepped away from her and gave her a little push toward Snape. "Bad form, Hermione. If you're gonna splash, you're gonna be splashed." Tonks considered the nasty sneer on Snape's face. "Or something worse, maybe. But you're definitely gonna pay if you rough house."

"Oh, Merlin!" Hermione squealed. She moved to pull herself out of the water.

"Miss Granger, if I have to put myself to the trouble of fetching you, it's just going to be worse," Snape promised her.

Ignoring his advice, Hermione scrambled out of the pool, standing in the cool air in her wet knickers and bra. She was completely unaware of the picture she made, her dark thatch showing clearly through the fabric of her pants, and her crinkled nipples pushing against the sodden lace of her bra.

Snape seemed to be having some trouble breathing, and there was unquestionably a bulge in the briefs as he hoisted himself over the side of the pool and advanced on Hermione, while she backed away from him. Gods, he was a sight to behold; that rapacious gleam in his eye nearly stopped her heart. She wanted this man, wanted him in the worst way, in every way, and he wouldn't even call her by her name.

Snape scooped her up into his arms and stalked toward the deep end of the pool.

Tonks and Lupin were calling encouragement to Snape and commiseration to Hermione, but she could barely hear them over the pounding of the blood in her body. She was throbbing in places she had never noticed before as she willed herself to memorize the feel of his nearly naked body against hers.

Snape was looking straight ahead as he carried her across the enclosure.

"Sir?" she tried, tentatively.

"Do _not_ speak," he snarled.

"Well, sir, I thought…"

"Don't TALK, Miss Granger." Snape emphasized his words by tightening his grip on her.

"I just thought that, since we've seen each other in our underwear, we could use each other's first names now," Hermione said in a small voice.

He glared down at her. "Would that make you behave yourself, Hermione?"

"Yes, Severus," she breathed.

"Fine." He dropped her like a lead weight into the deep water, then followed her in, to splash and dunk her repeatedly.

Hermione was breathless from repeated dunking, and from her own pealing laughter, when Snape ceased the water barrage.

"Now, will you have the courtesy to let a man swim?"

* * *

Hermione conjured the enormous, thick bath towels, while Tonks supplied the pillowy floor covering, and Lupin rustled up an entire tea service. They then slipped into the white terry-cloth robes in the changing rooms and settled down for a nice cup of tea. Snape was the last one out of the pool, after swimming lap after lap, almost as if he were trying to exhaust himself. Lupin tossed him one of the towels and pushed a cup of unsweetened tea at him when he collapsed on the floor beside them.

Hermione watched Snape with some concern as he savored his tea. It was almost as if some rigid mold had fallen from him, and he was branching out and moving in directions she had never expected of him.

Tonks heaved a huge yawn and stretched. "I am going to have a lovely lie-in this morning," she declared.

Lupin nudged her leg with his foot. "You'd lie in every morning if you could," he said.

Tonks suddenly sat forward and placed her teacup in its matching saucer. "I have a question for you," she said in a contemplative tone.

"Spring it on us, 'Dora," Lupin invited.

"Have you heard of the Enchantment?"

Hermione looked at her as if she were bent, but Snape gave a short nod, and Lupin said, "THE Enchantment, you mean? Sure."

Tonks wrapped her arms around her terry-cloth clad knees and propped her chin on them. "Do you believe it's true? That it exists?"

Lupin sighed. "I have always hoped it's true," he admitted. "But I've never felt it, sadly enough."

Hermione was looking back and forth between them. Snape observed her confusion with a slight movement of his lips, a shadow of a smile. Finally, a topic Hermione had never found in a book.

"What is it?" she demanded. "The Enchantment? I've never read about it, or heard of it. Is it folk lore, or a fairy tale – something they don't teach in school?"

Lupin, ever the teacher, took pity on her. "Muggles call it Love at First Sight, Hermione, though a more accurate description would be love at first touch. For wizard kind, the Enchantment has an actual, physical presentation. It's really very rare; I've only known two couples who experienced it." Lupin unconsciously rubbed the scar on his chin. "It's not a requirement for love, or marriage, or happiness, even. But it is a fabulous gift between two people. It is also potent, ancient magic."

Tonks was watching Lupin closely, while Hermione looked as if she wanted nothing so much as a quill and parchment, to take notes. Snape was staring down at his empty teacup, every line of his formerly relaxed body now rigid and tense.

"Who, Remus?" Tonks asked softly. "Who did you know? The ones who were touched?"

"James and Lily Potter are the only ones among my contemporaries. In my family, my father's grandparents were blessed that way."

Tonks nodded respectfully, a far-away look in her eyes.

Lupin smiled at Snape. "Severus, I'm surprised you haven't said one biting thing during this entire discussion. Why?"

Snape shrugged and pushed his empty teacup away from him. He appeared uncomfortable with the topic of conversation, but he answered, "The Enchantment is a scientifically verifiable phenomenon. It sounds like a load of Thestral crap, but it does exist."

Hermione looked from face to face. "What is the physical sign? How do two people know if they have the Enchantment between them?"

Lupin said, "Between them, within them, surrounding them – it's like an all-encompassing magical aura…"

Tonks said, "I've heard the first time hits you so suddenly, it makes you weak in the knees…"

With one of his sudden, panther-like moves, Snape was in Hermione's face; his words were so soft that she stopped breathing to hear him. His voice was like liquid dark chocolate as he said, "It's an energy field, initially generated by the proximity of the couple." Snape's ebony eyes claimed hers and bore into her as he spoke. "It thrums through their veins like the thickest molasses, enveloping them in the power and binding their souls." With each word, the image in Hermione's mind became clearer, and Snape's voice became hoarser. "Inside their universe of two, they are overcome by feelings of safety and security, of blinding passion, and of the inviolable rightness of their coupling. It is elemental magic in its purest form."

Hermione was transported back to the kitchen of number twelve Grimmauld Place, to the night she had held Snape's body in her arms and experienced a spiritual completion down to her very core – and a stirring of rapture beyond her eighteen-year-old understanding.

Snape stood abruptly, breaking eye contact with her, and the vision in her mind dimmed. Transfiguring his clothes into a clutch of pebbles, Snape dropped them into the pocket of his robe, along with his wand. Hermione stared at him as he turned his back on her and strode to the door.

"Good night," he said shortly and left the building.

Hermione sat as if she had been hit with a Stunning Spell. Inviolable rightness. _INVIOLABLE_. And yet he let her go away to Bulgaria for three years, ignored her owls, denied something hallowed, something sacrosanct. Hermione's entire body was trembling with an excess of emotion; she was quite suddenly so exhausted that she wasn't sure she could walk back to the room.

Lupin and Tonks were moving about, chatting in a desultory way as they tidied up the pool enclosure to leave it as they had found it. Lupin leaned over to take Hermione by the elbow, helping her to stand and guiding her toward the door.

"And you know what else about the Enchantment?" Tonks said wistfully, following along with her arms full of jumbled clothing.

Lupin glanced back, a gentle smile on his face. "No, what else?"

"I've heard the shagging is amazing….."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: The line, "get married and have lots of sex and babies," is shamelessly lifted from the divine mouth of Alan Rickman is the delightful film, _Love Actually_.

* * *

Chapter 4

Hermione knew before she opened her eyes that she had a monumental hangover. One does not live a generally liquor-free life, then engage in a night of unfettered drinking, without paying a price.

Her first clue was the dull pounding in her head and the generally queasy feeling in her stomach, but she really knew she was in for a rough morning when the bed suddenly shifted beneath her body. If the bed was going to roil about like a ship at sea, she might as well move to the floor. Preferably, the floor by the toilet, just in case.

Bravely, she opened one eye to see how her head was going to react to daylight. What light she could see was too bloody bright, but there was something blocking it. Squinting her one open eye, she managed to focus on the object between her eye and the morning light. When her vision finally conveyed its message to her brain – that that Severus Snape was looming over her in her bed – she had been giving him a one-eyed stare for several seconds. Somewhat belatedly, her body gave an involuntary jerk, and her hands scrabbled for the bedclothes, trying vainly to pull them up to her chin. But the sudden movement was a bad idea; she closed her eyes against the increased pain behind them and said, "Good morning, Professor Snape."

"I hate to disillusion you, Miss Granger, but morning was quite a while ago."

She could hear the sneer, even if she couldn't see it. "Would it be rude to ask why you're in my bed?" she asked, putting a hand to her aching brow.

"Technically, I am _on_ your bed, not _in_ your bed. I would be happy to make the adjustment, however, if it is necessary to your well-being."

Hermione clenched her teeth and dared to open both eyes in a painful squint. She was dimly surprised to see him wearing a short-sleeved dark green shirt unbuttoned over his bare chest and dark green swimming trunks with a tiny pattern of silver snakes on the fabric. As her eyes traveled up to his face, she found that he was staring at the thin straps and low neckline of her white silk chemise.

"Do you _mind_?" she demanded, trying again to tug the sheet higher on her body, only to find her attempts foiled by his body weight on the bedclothes.

"Come, Miss Granger, I'm sure you learned at primary school that turnabout is fair play," he drawled, letting his eyes travel insolently from her breasts to her face. "Or were you not staring at my chest a moment ago?"

Her answer to that comment was an exclamation of frustration and another fruitless tug at the sheet. In defeat, she scooted farther down the bed, covering herself more completely, and then put her hands to her aching head.

"What do you call that garment?" he inquired idly.

"Entirely insufficient, apparently," she muttered, rolling to her left and giving him her back. "Go away, I feel sick."

"Am I to understand that you have no use for this hangover antidote?"

Hermione rolled back to face him quickly enough to make her head swim sickeningly for a moment. Going in and out of focus, she could see the stoppered bottle held in his long fingers. Mutely, she held out her hand.

Snape held the bottle just out of her reach, an inquiring lift to his brow.

"Please."

She really hated to whinge.

"Please what?"

Smug bastard. "Please give me the damn bottle before I throw up on you."

The bottle fell onto the bed and rolled toward her. Hermione popped the stopper and upended the bottle over her mouth, going so far as to lick the residue from the stopper. Immediately, she began to feel better.

Having watched this performance with amusement, Snape took the bottle and stopper from her and rose to stand at the edge of the bed. "I feel quite certain now that you will not expire from your hangover, Miss Granger. If you decide to venture out-of-doors today, I have left a sunscreen potion on the terrace table for you."

Hermione pushed herself up on her elbows, amazed at how quickly the potion worked to relieve her symptoms. "It's Hermione, Severus," she said softly, looking up at him with a shy smile.

The corner of his mouth quirked, like an involuntary twitch. "Get out of bed, girl, it's time for lunch," he said, going out the French doors, down the steps, and heading toward the water.

Hermione swung her legs over the side of the bed. Tonks' bed was empty and there was no sign of her. The terry cloth robes they had commandeered from the pool changing rooms lay in a wadded heap on the dresser. With abrupt clarity, the events – and discussion – of the night before came back to her now-sober mind.

With narrowed eyes, she stared out the open French doors at the beach, now crowded with blankets peopled by Muggle holiday-makers. It was a good thing Snape had left the room before she remembered just how furious she was with him.

Seething with anger, Hermione shut the French doors and snapped the drapes closed with a jerk of her wrist. Then she headed for the shower. Snape was going to hear everything she thought about his insufferable behavior over the last three years. She didn't care if they never spoke to one another again afterwards, as long as she was able to tell him exactly what she thought about him first.

The pelting spray of the shower washed the angry tears from her cheeks, as it cleansed her body of the chlorine from the swimming pool. She wished she could as easily rinse him out from under her skin and down the drain.

* * *

Severus settled himself on the beach chair under the umbrella Lupin had set up for their use. The darkened spectacles Tonks had provided softened the glare of light on the water significantly, and he was able to sit quietly and ignore the Muggle children paddling about in the shallows, while keeping an eye on the door to Hermione's room.

Where had he ever gotten the impression that he was in control of this situation? What brain fever had led him to believe that he could begin to control Hermione Granger? He couldn't even control _himself_.

A less restrained man would pull at his hair in frustration, but Severus' manner gave no indication of his inner turmoil. He felt divided. His most familiar self was within him, the rigidly curbed, emotionally stunted, calculating Professor Snape, sneering and contemptuous – but it was as if the volume had been turned down on him. Gaining dominance now was the Holiday Severus, who lived outside the context of Professor Snape's world. Holiday Severus was permitted to express emotions other than disgust and disdain. Holiday Severus could relate to other people in a non-defensive manner, because Holiday Severus would never see those people again. Holiday Severus was allowed to attempt new leisure activities, because it didn't matter what strangers thought about him. Holiday Severus was a jolly chap, comparatively speaking, but there was a serious problem with the emergence of Holiday Severus on this get-away: Holiday Severus had never met anyone who knew Professor Snape, and Severus had meant to always keep it that way.

After all, What Happened on Holiday Stayed on Holiday.

Why the hell did Tonks have to bring up the Enchantment last night? If Albus Dumbledore wasn't behind that clumsy little conversational gambit, then Severus' espionage instincts were failing him.

He had realized, upon reflection, what had happened with Hermione in the kitchen at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, on that night three years before. Dumbledore could use the epithet "Special Circumstances," but Severus knew it was the Enchantment. In the intervening time, Severus had tried to convince himself that it was something else, something less decisive, that he had felt with her when she'd embraced him. Each passing day since she returned to Hogwarts belied this self-evasion. Every time she drew too near, he could feel the kinetic energy produced by her proximity. In the continuity of his everyday life, he had been able to evade the truth, but outside the context of his familiar world, he could see it clearly: Here, in the person of Hermione Granger, was his incontrovertible destiny. He had believed he could live to the end of his life without allowing another person inside his protective shell. Now he was being proved wrong by a chit of a girl. Not just the girl – surely he could have walked away from the _girl_ – but the _magic_ was beyond question.

The worst part of it all was that now Hermione _knew_ about it. She was sharp; more intelligent than any other person Severus had ever known, with the possible exception of himself. With the information she had been given last night, she would be able to nail his proverbial arse to the wall.

And he might even deserve it.

His resolve to repel Hermione, to hold her at arm's length, was crumbling. Holiday Severus could have a divine affair with the delectable Miss Granger over the next two days – but Miss Granger was going back to Hogwarts with Professor Snape, who did not relax his personal guard for anyone – not ever. Either Holiday Severus was going to have to take a damper, or Professor Snape was going to have to take a personal emotional risk.

This was not a simple matter of choosing between a holiday fling and something more serious. He was lying to himself if he believed that he had a choice in the matter.

Severus became agitated, and a pained grimace crossed his face as the truth crashed in on him. He could either submit to the imperative of the magic or try to walk away from it. The hell of the dilemma was that any decision he made would affect not only himself but would also affect Hermione. If he chose to continue his life alone, then he was condemning her to the same fate. She had felt the power between them – it was undoubtedly the reason why she returned from Bulgaria without having married that Quidditch player, Krum. Neither he nor Hermione would ever be able to touch another lover without comparing the experience to the impact of the Enchantment.

Severus' rash decision to make this trip was looking more and more like his undoing. He had lived nearly twenty years of his life in a dance with the Dark Lord, but _this_ was the hazard to which he would lose his life-as-he-knew-it.

It would fall to him, then, to make the best decision he could make for _both_ of them, and may the gods have mercy on their souls.

Severus was distracted from his cogitations when Hermione stepped out onto the terrace. Her hair was twisted up on her head again; she was wearing a basic one piece swimsuit, in Gryffindor crimson, with a matching sarong tied around her waist and knotted at the hip. The sarong left one lovely leg bare. She had been more naked the night before in her underwear, but this was the sight he had come to the shore to see – sod the ocean. He watched as she picked up the sunscreen potion and swallowed it. He saw her turn as Lupin came out of the other room onto the adjoining terrace. Hermione greeted Lupin, who was dressed as Severus was, in swim trunks and an open shirt. Lupin was also wearing the darkened glasses Tonks had provided for them, and he handed Hermione her pair, which she promptly put on. Severus could see that they were laughing together, and he felt a stab of jealousy. Oh, Merlin, he was well and truly screwed if the sight of her laughing with the werewolf could make him feel this way. With a snarled oath, he stood and strode off down the beach, away from the inns dotting the shore, his expression at once forbidding and forlorn.

* * *

Hermione looked down at the beachfront and saw Snape heading away from the holiday-makers inhabiting the blankets spread on the sand around their big beach umbrella. For a moment, she allowed her gaze to linger on his retreating figure, and then she looked away from him.

"Remus?" she said.

Lupin was in the act of swinging his long legs over the terrace rail to join her. "Yes?"

"Where is Tonks?"

Lupin pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head and rolled his eyes. "Have you ever heard of a Muggle activity called parasailing?"

Hermione's eyes grew wide in alarm as she copied his move and pushed her sunglasses up as well. "Is she insane?"

"I refused to accompany her, so she called me an old stick-in-the-mud and flounced off without me. You should have seen Severus' face when she invited him to go with her. That was almost worth the price of admission."

Laughing with him, Hermione sat down at the umbrella-shaded table and patted the seat beside her. "Sit down with me, Remus; I want to talk to you."

Lupin accepted her invitation and smiled at her with his usual warmth. "Yes, I think he likes you."

Without responding to this sally, Hermione said, "That's not what I want to talk to you about."

Lupin slumped a bit in his seat and his expression became wary. "What is it, then?"

Hermione decided to just take the plunge. "I think Tonks fancies you, and I know you fancy her, and neither one of you is doing anything about it."

Lupin looked away from her, gazing out across the sand to the horizon. "Hermione, I know that you are fond of me and fond of 'Dora. I am asking you, as a friend, not to interfere between us."

Hermione pursed her lips and regarded his profile as he continued to look out to sea. "Why should I keep quiet about it, Remus? I know for a fact that _you_ were the one who pointed Harry in the right direction with Ginny. And, that you made sure Luna Lovegood turned up at the Longbottom's party when Ron was having such a tough time." Hermione slapped the table top with one hand. "You have meddled on behalf of your friends more than once; it's about time somebody did the same for you."

Lupin turned his head and faced her. She saw such sadness in his eyes that she reached out and took his hand. With some difficulty, he said, "Hermione, I love her. Love her in the let's-get-married-and-have-lots-of-sex-and-babies kind of way."

"Then what's the problem?"

"No, listen to me. I am a _werewolf_. Yes, I've got the potion, but it doesn't change what I am. How could I ever ask a woman to make that part of her life? How could I? Especially if I love her?" His voice was down to a whisper and his head was now bowed.

Hermione resisted the urge to thump his hard head and said impatiently, "Don't you think that the woman in question is capable of making that decision for herself? Don't you think you could treat her like an adult and quit making decisions that affect BOTH of you without consulting her?" She wished very much that Severus Snape was present to hear this part of the conversation.

Lupin looked up in surprise at her exasperated tone. "What makes you think she would even want me? I don't think –"

Hermione interrupted him. "Remus, she told me last night that you are gorgeous and that you could have anyone you want. She believes you don't fancy her because you are such a gentleman with her." Trying to choose her words carefully, she continued, "We've all seen the way you treat the women you date. Give Tonks a taste of that."

Lupin began to look somewhat alarmed. "But I didn't love those women, Hermione. It's easy to be charming and to chat a girl up when it really doesn't matter, but …"

"What's the worst thing that could happen?" she asked, as patiently as she could.

"She could laugh at me. No, I could stand that – but what if she never wanted to see me again?" He looked up solemnly. "The way things are now, I can see her as often as I like, whenever she's free. We hang out, we drink, we dance, we talk about things – it's perfect."

In exasperation, Hermione changed tactics. "What would you do if she took up with another man?"

Lupin stared at her in horror. "Has she?"

Hermione allowed herself a little smile of satisfaction at his change of demeanor. With a shrug, she said, "What if she has? You don't intend to do anything about it, and a girl has needs…"

Lupin stood so suddenly that his heavy wrought iron chair fell over with a loud crash. "Who is it? Tell me, Hermione. So help me –"

Hermione watched him as he reflexively reached for his wand, glowering at her in a challenging way, his eyes blazing. All of the pathetic whinging was over, and he was a wizard with a witch to watch over. She stood too and gave him a dazzling smile.

"Excellent! That was brilliant, Remus. Now, take that attitude off and go find your witch. I believe she is attempting flight without a broomstick." She waved in the vague direction of the other hotels, down the crowded side of the beach.

"Did you say that just to make me angry?" Lupin demanded, somewhere between asperity and amusement.

"I _said_ it to make a point. How are you ever going to get to the sex and babies part if you never even kiss her?"

She watched the expressions flit across Lupin's face as he considered her words. Normally, she was kinder and more patient with her friends, but right now, Lupin as just another man who would not commit to a definite course of action. She was fed up with it.

"She said I was gorgeous?" he asked, apparently repeating the one piece of information that made no sense to him.

"Gorgeous," Hermione confirmed with finality.

With a sudden, exuberant smile, Remus grabbed Hermione in a quick hug, and swung her in a circle before putting her down. Without another word, he tucked his Disillusioned wand in his swim trunks at the small of his back and headed off to find Tonks.

* * *

Severus was returning the way he had come when the terrace came into view again. Lupin and Hermione were sitting with their heads together, holding hands. Severus increased his pace, keeping them in sight. Wouldn't it be ironic, if after all of his agonizing, she chose the werewolf over him? His lip lifted in an ugly snarl as he considered the possibility. Remus Lupin had been a good looking boy with popular friends when Severus had been a scrawny, unappealing boy with no friends at all. Lupin had grown into a prematurely grey, battle-scarred man, who had still maintained some of his youthful good looks; Severus, on the other hand, had grown into a tall, angular, ill-favored man, who had only marginally improved from his unprepossessing youth.

As he bore down upon them, Severus saw Lupin shoot to his feet in a menacing way. If Severus had been within striking distance, he would have jinxed the bastard from behind for such threatening behavior. Almost immediately, though, Hermione was on her feet; Severus knew a moment of gratification as he waited for Hermione to turn her wand on Lupin. She did not attack him, but waved him off, it seemed, in a dismissive way. _Not as satisfying as a good curse, but it will do_ , Severus thought. It pleased him to see her send Lupin about his business.

But when Lupin caught Hermione up into his arms and twirled her around, Severus felt his jaw drop in consternation. The fury that filled him literally made him see red. Completely disregarding the dangers of being seen by a Muggle, he Disapparated.

* * *

Hermione was watching Lupin stride away when Snape Apparated right in front of her, startling a scream from her. The ferocity in his face made her take a step back, even as she was glancing quickly around to see if a Muggle had witnessed his appearance.

"What are you playing at?" she hissed at him. "You could have been seen!"

Snape controlled himself with a visible effort and ground out, "I would like to speak with you in private, if you please."

Incensed, Hermione flung back at him, "I wouldn't go into a room alone with you if you paid me!"

"You didn't even WAIT for a room alone with Lupin before you threw yourself at him! What's the matter, Miss Granger? Do we mere mortal men lack the bestial appeal of that savage wolf?"

Hermione stepped up to his hateful, insulting face and slapped him as hard as she could. Without waiting for his reaction, she ran into her room and closed the French doors with a pane-rattling slam.

Snape stood immobile on the terrace with the imprint of her hand on his cheek, feeling like an utter fool. He saw Hermione grasp the draperies in her hand and close them against him. With a grim determination, he righted the wrought iron chair Lupin had upset and seated himself facing the closed French doors, his back to the beach front.

Perhaps an hour of his surveillance had passed when he heard an approach from behind him – the strangest noises, really. He turned his head and saw Lupin and Tonks making slow progress toward the room Snape and Lupin were sharing. Slow because they were snogging and groping one another in a revolting public display. He wondered briefly if they would give up the fight and just shag right there in the sand, but he was relieved to see them make it up the terrace steps to the doors of the room. As they fumbled their way indoors, Snape was confounded when Tonks looked directly at him, jerked her head toward Hermione's closed door, and then disappeared as Lupin kicked the door shut behind him.

Severus was conscious of the feeling that the entire situation was spiraling out of his control with ever-accelerating speed. No longer was he agonizing over the choice he had to make; it was painfully clear to him that the choice had been made. His frenzy of possessiveness, ignited by the sight of Lupin giving Hermione a brotherly hug, told its own tale. If he were honest with himself – a distasteful exercise which he avoided whenever possible – he had to admit that the possessive feelings had been with him for three years, now. He had managed those feelings with an ironclad discipline until Hermione had arrived at Hogwarts and been in and out of his presence every day. How appalling that his self-control, which had stood him in such good stead for so long, was insignificant in the face of the dominion of the Enchantment.

He had not survived two wars with the greatest Dark Wizard of all time without learning some lessons about bowing to a superior force. He would have her, but he was still Slytherin enough to want it to be on his own terms. Would he have to brave the wounded Gryffindor lioness in her lair, or would circumstances enable him to achieve a more covert rapprochement? Resolutely, he began to gather the tatters of his pride and settled in to wait her out.

Patience was not an issue for him – some potions simply took longer to brew than others did.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 5

Hermione sat on her bed, the one farthest from the door, hugging herself with her arms and rocking. The tears had passed again; she was tired of crying, tired of scheming and planning, and tired of trying to manipulate the man into her life and her arms and her bed. The irresistible force had finally met the immovable object and the irresistible force was ready to admit defeat. Perhaps it would be best to cut short her time at Hogwarts and send owls to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to find out if the proffered positions had been filled. Britain held no appeal for her now.

Feeling quite tired again, she stretched out on her bed and drifted to sleep.

The sound of the door opening jerked her back to consciousness. She was on her feet, with her wand in her hand, before Tonks had the door closed.

"Chill, Hermione!" the Auror said, locking the French door behind her and falling onto the nearest bed with a beatific expression on her face.

Hermione stepped over to the other bed and looked down at Tonks, whose hair was even more mussed than usual, whose lips were all puffy and bruised looking and whose swimsuit appeared to be wrong-side-out.

Breaking into a tender smile, Hermione sat on the edge of the bed. "Remus found you, I see," she commented.

"Oh, yeah." Tonks looked at her. "He said you told him I said he was gorgeous. I should hex you."

Hermione snorted. "If you weren't too addled to hold your own wand, I would be scared now."

Tonks sighed happily. "I tried to deny I ever said it, but he got all..." Tonks' voice trailed off dreamily.

Hermione prompted her. "He got all...what?"

Tonks closed her big eyes and smiled a secret smile. Hermione patted her cheek softly. "I love seeing you like this, Tonks. I'm so happy for you."

Tonks sat up suddenly. "We're supposed to be getting ready to go out to for dinner and dancing!"

Hermione moved back over to her own bed. "Well, you had best pop into the shower, then. What are you going to wear?"

Tonks hopped up and headed for the bathroom. "Remus says we're going to dress up tonight, so I thought I'd wear the little black dress. How about you?"

"I am not going anywhere, silly," Hermione said.

"If you think I'm going to go out on my first date with my new boyfriend and watch Severus Snape sulk all night long, you are wrong, missy," Tonks said airily. "Pick out something sexy and get changed."

Hermione glared at her. "Leave him here, then. You and Remus deserve a nice, romantic date on your own."

"Last night you were drooling on him and today you won't eat dinner with him?" Tonks said, obviously confused.

"Things have changed since last night, Tonks."

"Like what?" Tonks went into the bathroom and began to run the water in the shower, leaving the bathroom door open to speak with Hermione.

"Like I slapped him hard enough to give him a black eye and slammed the door in his face. He'll never speak to me again. Slytherins aren't too keen on humiliation."

Hermione was shocked when Tonks' infectious laugh floated out of the bathroom.

"Hermione, didn't you see him sitting on the terrace and staring at the door all afternoon?"

"WHAT?"

"He sat there like a roosting bat or something and never took his eyes off the door all afternoon. Remus and I occasionally looked out the window and saw him doing it." Tonks giggled.

"Oh, between bouts you had time to look out the window?" Hermione asked, then squealed when the wet face flannel sailed over the shower rod and smacked her on the shoulder. For some reason, the news of Snape's vigil lifted her heart.

"Hurry UP, Hermione! Oh, I forgot! Severus said I should tell you to wear the green dress and to wear your hair down."

"Oh, he did?"

Tonks smothered her laughter as she rinsed herself and turned off the water. She knew very well that nothing would serve to get Hermione dressed more quickly than for her to be told what Snape's instructions were.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Tonks was putting the finishing touches on her makeup when the French doors rattled. Hermione slipped her shoes on and walked over to throw the doors open. Lupin grabbed her up and whirled her around in a burst of exuberance.

Hermione laughed out loud. "Put me down, you nutter!"

Lupin grinned at her. "Can't help it if I feel like hugging everyone I see, Hermione."

A drawling voice spoke from the bottom of terrace steps. "It's true. He tried to hug me, and I had to curse him."

Lupin moved past Hermione into the room, and she was able to see Snape, who was watching her from the bottom of the terrace steps with an unreadable expression. He was wearing a beautifully-cut, charcoal grey, double-breasted silk suit with a blindingly white shirt and a forest green silk tie. His ravens-wing hair, threaded with silver, was swept straight back from his forehead. Standing there gazing at him, Hermione thought he looked like an aristocratic lord.

Snape snickered to himself when he saw how she was dressed. Hermione stood in the doorway, wearing a short red dress with a demure, high neck and high-heeled red pumps; her hair was smoothed and styled in an elegant chignon. So much for the green dress with her hair down. When Lupin whirled her around, Snape saw that the back of the dress was cut nearly to the small of her back; he also saw the lacy black knickers she was wearing beneath the short skirt.

With calm deliberation, Snape began to climb the steps up to the terrace; Hermione turned and fled back into the room, where Lupin appeared to be snogging off all the makeup Tonks had applied. Hermione stopped uncertainly, half-way across the room; she wasn't quite comfortable with interrupting the couple, who were oblivious to her. As she stood considering what to do, she was alerted to Snape's presence behind her by the sudden crackling electricity in the air. He placed a hand on her elbow and turned her toward the French doors, saying sotto voce, "We may never make it to the restaurant if we wait for those two."

With some vehemence, Hermione jerked away from Snape and moved onto the terrace. "Keep your hands off me, please," she said.

Snape smirked and stopped to pick up a flimsy red scarf from the back of the chair.

"Is this your wrap?" he inquired, following Hermione out into the summer evening and closing the door quietly behind him.

"Yes, thank you," she spat, snatching the scarf from him. How had she gone from a steady refusal to make up one of a party of four, including Snape, to being alone with him on a dinner date?

Snape waited patiently for her to precede him down the terrace steps onto the walk, being careful not to follow closely enough to touch her. "Lupin made reservations at the restaurant in the next hotel," he explained conversationally, gesturing for her to walk with him.

Hermione walked as quickly as she could in her high heels, trying to remember why in the world she had chosen to dress herself like such a tart. Wear the green dress indeed! She would bloody well wear whatever she wanted. She was so _angry_ with him!

She was a bit startled to hear Snape, who was effortlessly keeping up with her pace, command in his silkiest voice, "Say it, Hermione."

She whirled on him, her fists clenched on her sheer red wrap. "I'm FURIOUS with you!"

He stopped when she did and turned to face her, his expression open and unguarded. A tendril of her hair had flown across her face when she turned so abruptly; with infinite tenderness, Snape used his fingertips to move the tendril out of her face. "I know you are."

In frustration, she stomped one foot. "Don't you DARE be nice to me, Severus Snape! Just don't you DARE." She glared up into his face.

"I apologize for what I said about Lupin," Snape said, suggesting with a gesture of his hand that they continue walking to the hotel restaurant.

"Oh, well, THAT makes up for everything," Hermione said sarcastically, beginning to walk again.

"It was out of line," he continued.

"I can't imagine why you would _say_ such a thing to me," she raged at him, walking faster.

"I saw Lupin pick you up and whirl you around – I was jealous."

She threw him a scathing look. "Oh, please. He just did it again, for Merlin's sake."

"Yes, but I had already cursed him for trying to hug me, so I didn't like to curse him again so soon," he explained apologetically. "I'll do it the next time I see him, though, if you like."

Hermione stopped again. "You're making fun of me! I can't believe you're LAUGHING at me when I'm so ANGRY."

Snape stepped in front of her so that he could make full eye contact with her. "I'm not making fun, Hermione. You have quite a lot to be angry with me about. I just thought I'd address the slapping offense first, so that we can move on to the things you're really angry with me about."

To her amazement, she could see he was serious. He was not sneering or smirking or snarling; he was speaking to her with complete sincerity.

How totally unnerving.

"First of all," she snapped, walking around him to continue towards the hotel restaurant, " _you_ have no right to be jealous of me. Second of all, it's obvious to a Flobberworm that Remus is totally gone on Tonks."

"Lupin is indeed quite taken with Tonks," Snape agreed, ignoring her first statement.

Hermione, in all good conscience, had to admit to herself that he had given her a comprehensive apology for the 'bestial appeal' remark. "I accept your apology," she stated stiffly, as they arrived at the hotel entrance.

Snape placed the tips of his fingers on her elbow for a fleeting moment, only to direct her steps, as a liveried doorman swept the door open for them and they walked across the lobby to the formal restaurant. Snape gave Lupin's name to the maitre d' and they were seated at a table for four, elegantly laid with crystal, silver, and china. Snape took a moment to shoot forbidding glances at the two strangers who had watched Hermione's progress across the room with far too much interest; he had the satisfaction of seeing both men avert their eyes from his dangerous glare.

Hermione was oblivious to this exchange; her own eyes were sweeping the stately decor of the room. She was very impressed with her surroundings, as well as a bit intimidated. "This place looks quite expensive," she said hesitantly.

A waiter approached them with menus; Snape forestalled the young man by saying, "Would you object if I ordered our meal, Hermione?"

Hermione was completely out of her element, and for the first time in a while, she felt the twenty-year difference in their ages. "No, not at all," she said politely, looking down to spread the linen napkin across her lap. She bit her lip and wondered who this polished gentleman was and what he had done with Severus Snape?

To cover her confusion, she lifted the crystal water goblet and brought it to her lips. On his side of the table, Snape had quickly perused the menu and placed the order for their dinner, including a bottle of wine, in fluent French. In amazement, Hermione forgot what she was doing and accidentally swallowed an ice cube.

Snape watched her sputtering across the table with wicked delight, reflecting that it had been a wise decision for him to study the restaurant menu in the room before using the strange telephone to call and place the reservations for four in Lupin's name. If he could continue to keep her off-balance, things might go more easily for him when it came time to discuss her remaining complaints against him.

Hermione used the cloth napkin to dab at the water she had dribbled on her chin. She had no idea how he had done it. An hour ago she had been enraged with the greasy, infuriating, and uncouth Potions master; now she was confronted with the immaculate, debonair, and refined stranger across the table, who was watching her with an alarming new mien. How could she be angry with someone she didn't even recognize?

The efficient waiter returned to their table with the wine bottle, swathed in a pristine white cloth. Hermione watched in fascination as the young man presented the bottle to Snape, who looked at the label and nodded his approval. The waiter then used a corkscrew to open the wine, which he poured into a wine glass and offered to Snape. Snape took the glass and swirled the wine, sampling the bouquet with his over-sized nose; then, he took a sip. The waiter seemed on edge until Snape nodded to him curtly, which caused the anxious young man to break out in a relieved smile. Snape indicated that the waiter should leave the iced bucket on its stand by his chair and waved him off, leaning to pour the pale liquid into Hermione's wine glass.

"I think you'll like this vintage," Snape said graciously, "it is very light, and will complement the fish quite nicely."

Hermione hoped she wasn't looking as disoriented as she felt. Grasping for some remnant of her reason, she sat up straighter in her seat, and said, "Professor Snape..."

He lifted his brows enquiringly. "I thought we agreed on first names, Hermione," he chided.

She plowed on, ignoring the interruption, "Please don't try to change the subject. The discussion last night in the pool enclosure –"

"Yes, quite right. We must consider those issues very thoroughly. But not during our meal, perhaps? Shall we agree to cover that topic when we have left the table?"

Was she committing a faux pas by wishing to hash this out at the dinner table? Hermione felt her face flush in embarrassment, which she attempted to cover by drinking from her wine glass.

Snape gave himself mental congratulations for how well he was handling her, thus far. Look at that face – the little Gryffindor was actually feeling wrong-footed for wanting to give him the total telling-off he so richly deserved! It wasn't really a fair fight; she was half his age and did not have nearly the weapons in her arsenal that he possessed. However, he was a Slytherin, so the lack of fairness did not prevent him from enjoying her discomfiture at his hands.

Smooth as glass, Snape initiated a conversation regarding French poetry, which sparked Hermione's interest, and they whiled away the wait for their food by comparing Baudelaire and Rimbaud. He knew she spoke French and thought it might impress her to find out that he spoke it also. How else did the silly girl think he stayed abreast of the Potions studies in other countries?

Hermione sipped at her wine, marveling at how well the flavor blended with the fish she was eating. This man was full of contradictions and depths she had never suspected. She had developed a crush on him in her sixth year, which she successfully recovered from when she and Ron attempted a romance in seventh year. Then came the night her parents were targeted by the Death Eaters, when she got squiffy in the kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and clung to him like a limpet. In the years since then, she had fantasized many things about Severus Snape, but imagining him as some urbane man with worldly savoir faire had never entered her mind.

Hermione heard the unmistakable sound of shattering glass and looked toward the sound, not at all surprised to see Tonks apologizing to a harassed waiter while Lupin quietly urged her on toward their table. Hermione thought that Tonks was looking very pretty, even without any makeup, in her smart black dress and shoes. Lupin was wearing a nice Muggle suit of a muted taupe, which blended with his hair – well, his hair could have used another swipe with a comb, perhaps, but at least none of their clothes were on inside-out, which Hermione counted as a victory. She smiled at them in welcome.

Snape watched the Metamorphmagus and the werewolf arriving late for dinner and congratulated himself again on his impeccable timing. He stood as they approached, placing his folded napkin on the table.

"Sorry to be late," Lupin said with a small smile, holding the chair for Tonks as she sat down. "We were unavoidably detained."

Tonks stifled a giggle at that, then cast a shrewd look between Snape and Hermione. Before she could speak, Snape walked around the table and stopped beside Hermione's chair. "As you can see, we did not wait for you," he said. "We can, however, recommend the fish – wouldn't you agree, Hermione?"

Hermione looked up at Snape with some confusion. He was clearly waiting for her to stand. Perhaps they were going to be tactful and leave the new couple alone? She saw Snape's small nod, and she stood, a tremor running through her as he draped her scarf across her shoulders, his hands lingering for a moment too long on her bare flesh.

"Yes, the fish was lovely," she said.

"You're not going?" Lupin asked in surprise.

"Only into the lounge," Snape replied coolly, inclining his head toward a doorway leading into a darkened area; Hermione looked that way and saw a dark bar, the movement of couples dancing, and for the first time, she heard the music.

* * *

The lounge was at the back of the hotel, with the glassed-in walls giving a view of the beach. Double doors at the far end of the room led out onto a wooden pier that jutted out over the water. At the opposite end of the room, a DJ worked at a large stereo system. The polished dance floor stretched from the far side of the bar to the double doors, which were open to the soft breezes of the summer night; between songs, it was possible to hear the surf washing up onto the shore.

Snape chose a table along the glass wall and waited for Hermione to sit before he took his seat across from her. He signaled to the waitress and ordered a gin with lime, while Hermione asked for lemonade; the waitress returned quickly with their drinks, then left them alone.

Hermione looked around the pleasant bar, noted the sun setting spectacularly over the ocean, and then glanced across the table at Snape, who was studying her intently. Her earlier righteous indignation had fizzled out somewhere between the ostentatious wine-tasting and the discussion of French symbolist poetry. She was young, but she was not _stupid_ ; she fully realized that he had manipulated her expertly from the time he showed up at her door dressed like a hawkish James Bond imitator, right down to this moment is this extremely civilized lounge – perhaps he was banking on her reluctance to cause a scene in public.

"Swearing off the margaritas?" he inquired warily, noting the expressions flitting across her face. She gave him a scornful look and lifted that determined chin; Severus' eyes darted quickly from side to side to see how many strangers were about to become familiar with the intimate details of his personal life.

"Would you please just stop with the courtesy and civility?" she snapped. "You're freaking me out."

The lounge was fairly empty for a Saturday night, Severus reflected. No doubt more people would come as the night wore on. He supposed it had been enough of a victory to put off her tantrum for as long as he had. He swallowed a judicious amount of gin and leaned forward slightly, making eye contact with her and holding her gaze fearlessly.

"You can ask me anything you would like to know," he stated calmly. "I will answer any question you have without evasion or prevarication."

Hermione, who had been gathering her wrath for a tirade, was nonplussed, but before she could open her mouth to speak, Snape held up one hand to stop her.

"But first, dance with me."

She glared at him with narrowed eyes. "I do NOT want to dance with you. I want answers."

Snape stood and waited imperiously for her to rise. "I thought Gryffindors were renowned for their courage. Are you _afraid_ to dance with me?" He let just enough venom leak into his tone to goad her. He wanted to hold her again, hold her before they quarreled. When she heard everything he had to tell her, she might choose to walk away from him, regardless of the Enchantment.

Hermione's lips tightened, and her glare intensified. "You _know_ what will happen if we touch."

Snape allowed himself a sneer as he leaned over her, placing his palms flat on the table. "You _are_ afraid, then," he whispered provocatively.

Hermione knew she was being baited, but there was a traitorous part of her that wanted to give in to his request, that wanted to feel his arms around her – that wanted to feel the power surging between them. Quickly, she stood and walked onto the dance floor, just as a slow number began to play.

Severus followed her onto the dance floor, taking her small hand in his and placing his other hand lightly at her waist on the silken fabric of the red dress. They stood for a moment without moving, wide brown eyes locking with intense ebony eyes, as the energy joined and thrummed through their veins. With what little presence of mind he could muster, Severus led her into the dance. As they moved together, their eyes remained bound until, with a shiver, Hermione closed the distance between their torsos and tucked her head beneath his chin as she had done on that long-ago night. She let go of his hand and both of her arms snaked around his narrow waist; Severus felt the increased contact with a swooping sensation in his belly, and he placed his free hand on the bare skin between her shoulder blades, pressing her to him, closer still.

As the song came to an end, Severus rallied his strength and stepped back from her. The look on her face was delicious. Her eyes were glazed and unfocused; he wanted nothing so much as to catch her up into his arms and kiss her.

Abruptly, he said, "Thank you. Shall we go?"

Hermione struggled to clear her mind, conscious only of the acute feeling of loss when he released her. She walked back to the table to retrieve her scarf as Snape stepped up to the bar and paid their tab. He walked back to her at the table and indicated they should exit through the double doors onto the pier.

"What about Remus and Tonks?" she asked him.

"They'll find their way back. Come." Snape led the way down the wooden stairs to the sandy beach. Hermione slipped off her high heels, then they set off across the sand.

* * *

When they reached her door, she looked at him uncertainly. Snape opened the French doors and nodded for her to enter. Hermione did so, putting space between them quickly, tossing her scarf onto the bed and picking up her wand from the bedside table.

Snape followed her in and closed the doors behind him, placing his wand on the bed closest to him. "I only want to speak to you, Hermione." He stood, his hands held out, empty, before him.

Her brow wrinkled as she studied him. His face still looked so different. He was not sneering, snarling, or frowning. The nakedness of his expression was interesting, she thought. Then she noticed he was approaching her.

"No." She pointed her wand at his undefended chest. "Don't come any closer. I – I can't think if you get too close."

Snape froze, keeping an eye on the wand, and raised his hands again where she could clearly see them. "Hermione, I'm unarmed. I can't hurt you."

Her laugh was not pleasant. "You have never yet hurt me with your _wand_ , Severus Snape."

"I deserve that." He looked into her eyes, his own expression completely open and unguarded. "I'll sit in the chair by the door. I'll leave my wand on the bed. You sit where you want, keep your wand – just please let me explain to you. I'll answer any question you have. I'll tell the truth."

Hermione looked skeptical, but even in her hurt and anger, she could see what this attitude and these words were costing him. As she watched him, he backed, step by step, to the chairs by the doors; reaching one, he sat down.

"May I remove my jacket?" he asked her.

Hermione shrugged at him indifferently, wishing that she were wearing something other than the skimpy red dress.

Snape draped the suit coat over the empty chair beside him and quickly removed his necktie, unbuttoning the top buttons of the shirt.

Hermione sat down on the edge of her bed, with Tonks' bed between them. "Okay, go ahead and get it over with. Say what you came to say." She stared at him stonily.

Snape took a deep, somewhat shaky breath. "That night, in Grimmauld Place…" His voice faded, almost as if he hoped she would pick up the narrative and begin speaking. Instead, she continued to stare at him with an unchanged expression.

"You were my student!" he blurted. He knew it was a cowardly defense, but couldn't suppress the urge to dodge her unwavering regard.

"Former student."

"You were a child!"

"I was of age."

"You were on your way to Bulgaria! To Krum!"

She stood so quickly that he actually cowered back in his chair before he caught himself.

"I was on my way to university. Viktor just happened to be there. And you knew I would never… After feeling that … _and you let me go anyway!_!"

He let the words hang between them for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was steady and unruffled. "I let you go. Yes."

"You didn't want me."

It was presented as a statement, but he heard the hurt, the uncertainty. "Whether I wanted you or not was immaterial."

She stared at him. "Immaterial to whom, exactly?"

She had the satisfaction of seeing his lips tighten with some vestige of his usual scorn.

"Oh, use your brain, girl! What thirty-eight year old heterosexual male with a pulse would not want a beautiful eighteen year old female?"

Her look became contemplative, and in the manner inimical to all the members of her sex, she chose the one extraneous word in his entire question to pursue. "Beautiful?" she asked.

The annoyance left his face, his mouth relaxed, and his lips parted slightly, his eyes warming to a searing gaze as he slowly looked his fill at her wondering eyes, her trembling lips, her proud breasts in the crimson dress, down to her embraceable waist, her mesmerizing hips, all the way down her shapely legs to her pretty feet. Then he took his time, letting his eyes make the return trip up her body, letting her see every emotion and desire upon his face as it crossed his mind, until he was looking into her eyes, unmasked and unreserved.

"Beautiful," he reiterated, his voice hoarse.

He could barely breathe as he watched her crawl across the bed between them, and then he had an armful and a lapful, of crying, laughing, caressing, kissing Hermione. Severus put a hand to the back of her head and returned her kiss very thoroughly, slipping his tongue through her parted lips, teasing and tasting her mouth, caressing her tongue with his own, showing her how it felt to be wanted by him – how it felt to be so beautiful. The shared pulse was pounding in them, her sweetly timid tongue was in his mouth, her hands in his hair, her delicious little bum resting on the hardest erection of his entire life; when he gently sucked her tongue, she moaned audibly into his mouth, and it took all of his self-control to tenderly end the kiss. He embraced her trembling body for another moment, then he urged her onto the edge of the bed and stood, smoothing his shirtfront with shaking hands.

She made a small sound of protest as he broke the contact between them, and he took her hand, pressing a final, wrenching kiss to her palm before stepping out of her reach.

Her impassioned gaze questioned him without words. "We haven't said all the things we need to say," he said softly, letting her hear his own longing, not trying to hide from her the evidence of his arousal. "If I'm touching you, I won't be able to speak to you coherently."

Her wanton scrutiny left little doubt of her immediate opinion of talking versus snogging.

Taking a deep breath, Severus spoke again. "Hermione, after Grimmauld Place, I spent two years studying everything I could find about the Enchantment. I couldn't find an example of a couple who … rejected the imperative."

Studying a subject? Research? Hermione forced herself to focus for a moment, dragging her gaze away from his erection and back to his face. "Who would want to reject it?"

Severus, who had moved behind the chair, gripped the back of it. "You may wish to."

She looked at him in confusion, and actually shook her head, as if to clear it. "Severus – I had maybe five minutes of an unreciprocated hug three years ago. Since that time, I have been unable to force myself to think of another man, and you may be assured that I tried." Hermione bit her lip and looked rueful. "For the first six months I was gone, I must have sent you a minimum of one owl a week."

Snape nodded his agreement with her assessment at this point; he vividly remembered the letters he had never answered – the letters he saved, and reread in drunken moments of maudlin self-pity.

Hermione continued, "I refused to even _see_ Viktor until after Christmas of that first year. By that time, I was so angry with you and so angry with myself that I spent the next two years trying very hard to make myself want Viktor. He's intelligent, he's accomplished, he's sought after –"

Severus made a derisive sound, and she turned questioning eyes on him.

"Perhaps we've heard enough of Krum's attributes?" he suggested dangerously.

"I'm trying to make a point! Viktor wasn't some pathetic loser –" another disdainful snort "– he was everything a girl could want, and I didn't. He loved me, he wanted to marry me, and I tried very hard to love him back. I even tried to sleep with him and –"

"YES, yes, I think I get your point," he ground out. Her wide, inquisitive eyes were fixed on his face again, and he mustered his patience for her. "I beg your pardon, Hermione. It is – difficult for me to hear you speak about Krum." He struggled with himself for a moment. "I am very possessive, and I am a jealous man. If we come to some kind of agreement, I'm sure I will, in time, be less – sensitive – to the subject of other men." Considering the murderous feelings he harbored toward the Bulgarian Seeker at this moment, he sincerely hoped his words were more than a vain promise.

"All I'm trying to say is that I don't think of other men, and I don't _want_ to think of other men. This Enchantment between us is precious to me, Severus. Every girl dreams of this kind of magic with the man she – chooses."

Hermione stood, and moved to the chair between them, kneeling on the seat and looking up at him; he stood gripping the back of the chair harder than ever to keep his hands from her body.

"What kind of agreement will we come to?" she queried, reaching out and tracing a line across his white knuckles with the tip of her finger.

"We can discuss that. Before we do, I think it's important for you to know – to know about me." He slipped past her, walking along the pathway between the foot of the two beds and the dresser.

Hermione turned and sat in the chair, watching him with some confusion. "What do you want me to know, Severus?"

He reached the vanity, now as far away from her as the small room would allow. He turned his back to the mirror and looked across the room at her. His senses were clearing, his erection diminishing, and his brain was almost functioning. In some removed part of his mind, he was amazed to find that he was more afraid now than he had ever been when kneeling at the feet of the Dark Lord. What was the worst Voldemort could do to him? Torture him with Cruciatus? Kill him? What was the worst Hermione could do to him? She could remove his very soul, and leave him breathing, forced to endure year after year without her light. Damnation, how had it _come_ to this? And the hell of it was, even with the full knowledge that he was flying in the face of forty years of careful living, he was not able to step back from this precipice.

"I have done despicable things, Hermione. I was not a nice person when I was in school at Hogwarts, and after school, I became a Death Eater." He stood, ramrod straight, across the room from her and awaited her judgment.

"And then you went to Dumbledore and you became a spy for the Order. You asked for, and received a second chance." Hermione shrugged. "I don't know what you're on about, Severus."

"I am not a nice person now. I am not fun-loving, and I am not pleasant. I am hell to get along with. Passion is marvelous, and sex can be transcendent, but one must also live a day-to-day existence." He began to slowly approach her, holding her gaze. "I can – if you permit me – show you."

Hermione considered him speculatively. "Show me how?" she asked.

Severus now sat down on the edge of the bed across from her chair, their knees separated by mere inches. "With Legilimency. I can open my mind to you, and you can see. I – I won't hold anything back."

"By turn, then, my mind will also be open to you?"

He nodded.

Hermione leaned toward him. "If I do this – look into your mind and let you look into mine – will you believe me without reservation if I tell you that I accept all of you, including your past?"

A snarky Snape-smile curled his lip. This little Gryffindor was shrewdly backing him into an untenable corner. She was a worthy partner, indeed; perhaps the Fates weaving their Enchantment paid attention to such detail.

"Yes," he answered her. "If, after you have seen my past, you say you accept me, I will believe you without reservation."

Hermione sat up straighter. "Then do it. Cast the spell."

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Just a reminder that this story is Alternate Universe, so some of the details of Severus's life do not follow canon.

* * *

Chapter 6

Severus reached behind him on the bed and found his wand by touch.

"The spell will work more quickly and more easily if we maintain eye contact," he explained to her.

Hermione sat in the chair across from his place on the edge of Tonks' bed; there were mere inches between their knees as they faced one another. She responded, her voice low and husky with emotion, "Show me, Severus. See me. Feel me. Know me."

She saw the shudder ripple through him at her words. He held his wand between them, pointed it at her, and said in a powerful voice, " _Legilimens_!"

Hermione immediately felt him there, in the forefront of her mind; she greeted him joyfully, and he took her hand with a sad smile and led her forward. She knew, in some distant way, that they were still seated across from one another in the room of the inn, yet at the same time, she had the distinct feeling of being led into the corridors of his being.

The sensation was of a sudden immersion into his emotions, accompanied by a succession of images, all filtered through his feelings. Hermione found it to be disconcerting at first, but Severus steadied her, and sensing his strength surrounding her, she was able to concentrate on the panorama of his life.

His earliest memories were of deprivation of touch. As a baby, a toddler, a small child, he was left alone, crying, reaching, needing: a baby who was not held and rocked enough, a toddler who was not cuddled and reassured, a small child left to his own devices. She saw his mother and his father, saw the war between them and the effect on their only prisoner of that war, their own son. She saw the dilemma that forged his early childhood: the love for one parent who overtly abused him and the love for the other parent who failed to protect him from the abuse. She felt the comfort he found in the boxed books, and she saw the lure of the Dark Magic as a very young wizard began down a path of need. He was driven first by the hope that he would learn the spell to change his parents, and then by hate and the desire for vengeance. The disappointment and despair broke her heart with the desire to hold and comfort the young Severus.

He led her on, into his years at Hogwarts. She saw the rituals of Slytherin House and the scorn of the girls and the ridicule of the boys with whom he was forced to pass his days. Yet she saw his peers acquire a grudging admiration of his skills and abilities, which brought him a place among them in spite of his caustic personality and his neglected physical appearance. She glimpsed the torment he suffered at the hands of James Potter and Sirius Black, the terror he felt at the sight of the werewolf, and the humiliation and frustration he felt when the Gryffindor boys were not punished for his brush with death.

She went on with him, and saw a very confusing sight: his sexual initiation, which was somehow, in his mind, interposed with his Death Eater initiation. She saw the duels he fought, and the opponents he defeated—some, by death. Deeper, deeper, ever darker, she went into an ugly place within him, a place of hate and hopelessness, with the only positive voice being that of the one whom he called "Master." She felt her own revulsion at the horrible memories of the abasement he suffered at the hands of the Dark Lord, the death-dealing potions he brewed, and knew Severus had realized those potions would be used against the Dark Lord's enemies, to torture, maim, and kill.

At this point, Hermione felt Severus attempting to disengage his hand from hers, but she held fast, urging him to show her more, ever more of himself and how he evolved. Resolutely, Severus led her on, to memories of the faceless women, coins exchanging hands, and acts of sexual abandon for which he paid dearly, in gold and in spirit. Now, here was the moment when he could no longer endure the senseless nature of the deeds he was asked to perform. There were days of agonizing before he made the decision to go to Dumbledore. She saw Dumbledore's role in Severus' life, the old wizard's unblinking attention to the recitation of Severus' acts of damnation, and then she saw with dawning amazement how Severus had lain himself open to the Headmaster's inexorable, probing Legilimency. She saw the acceptance Severus received and the absolution he felt, even if he could not name it.

Hermione was unsurprised as she viewed Severus's subsequent acts of heroism, when he turned spy for the Order of the Phoenix and used his skill at Occlumency to go among the Death Eaters and learn of their plans and schemes. She recognized his innate sense of honor, the honor that had forced him to return to the side of the Light; she saw his tremendous courage in his unswerving conviction and dauntless resolve to do the right thing, regardless of his own personal safety.

Even as she thought these things, Hermione felt Severus push her admiration away from him. Insistently, he showed her his attempts to advance at Hogwarts, the other teachers he out-maneuvered to become Head of Slytherin House, and his machinations behind the scenes to gain the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, over and over again. She watched as he began to perceive Hogwarts and its staff as his home and his family, allowing himself a sense of security behind those ancient walls he had never known in his home life. She saw his holidays away from school, how he allowed himself to ease into the persona he thought of as Holiday Severus; she saw his plan for her to meet Holiday Severus. In his holiday memories, she saw a more relaxed Severus relating with strangers from whom he felt no threat and for whom he had no need to maintain his unbending facade.

Then she saw the advent of her beloved Harry and felt Severus' antipathy and aversion for this carbon copy of his old school foe; she saw herself as a bushy-headed, buck-toothed child and felt his impatience with her personality, as well as his grudging respect for her intellect. Interspersed with his fury of impatience over Harry's many escapades at school, she felt his rising awareness of the inevitability of another, final confrontation with the Dark Lord and his minions. She was witness to his dogged resolution to reclaim his place among the Death Eaters upon Voldemort's return; she saw a glimpse of the physical tortures to which he was subjected to prove his loyalty as a Death Eater. She was aware of Severus' attempt to dissuade her from seeing the memories cataloging his persecution among Voldemort's followers, but stubbornly, she continued on through his physical suffering. At the end of it all, she felt his savage joy at the fall of Voldemort and his bone-deep relief that the struggle was finally through.

She saw then, with a blow like a Bludger to the stomach, their night at Grimmauld Place and its impact on him; she saw his agony, felt his longing as well as his determination to protect himself from _this_ , what was happening right now – an invasion of his most private, secret self. In a blur, she saw his efforts to hold himself aloof from her, his final acceptance of their bond and his decision to pursue her.

Hesitantly, Severus led her to a memory that he, himself, now only visited in half-remembered dreams. He allowed her to see his one moment before the Mirror of Erised, many years before, in Hermione's first year at Hogwarts, when the Mirror had been used to protect the Philosopher's Stone. In the Mirror, Severus stood relaxed and smiling, arm-in-arm with a faceless woman, while a small black-haired boy with warm brown eyes and a Snape-hooked nose played at his feet. As Hermione viewed this memory of the reflection of the deepest wish of his heart, the faceless woman took on Hermione's features; she and Severus recognized at the same moment that his mirror-child had, even then, her eyes.

They both paused for a long moment, studying this memory. Hermione felt Severus's internal struggle: his terrific need to control his life and protect himself at last surrendered in the face of his grim decision to follow through on his promise to show her everything and to hold nothing back. At the end of this journey into his very soul, Hermione watched as Severus acknowledged his deepest, most private wish – to share the Enchantment with her – his one true kindred spirit.

Hermione could feel Severus' emotional depletion at the end of this journey, but she was determined to finish what they had begun. She took both of his hands and pulled him back, through the corridors of his being into hers. She was only half his age and a much more forthright person, so the journey was much shorter and easier to navigate.

Hermione willed herself to be open to him; she was aware of his tentative hesitation to invade her being in this way. Severus reached for a memory, pausing as if for permission, and she gestured to him, _See it all_. As he viewed her thoughts and memories, she saw them, too. Her earliest recollections were of security and safety in her mother's arms, with her smiling and proud father in attendance. Next, a blur of successive childhood memories; her pet dog, her grief when her grandmother died, her joy in learning at her primary school, her ambitions to be the best and the smartest among her peers, her excitement when the letter from Hogwarts arrived so unexpectedly.

Severus looked carefully at her time as his student, at the many times she had doubted him and suspected him of wrong-doing. He saw her growing respect for his intellect and knowledge and her quiet admiration when his role as a spy was revealed to her. He saw her repeated, tireless defense of him to her cohorts, Potter and Weasley, who frequently suggested he was leaking Order plans to the Dark Lord. He saw her schoolgirl fascination with his hands, with his voice, with his body beneath his robes, and felt an odd gratification. He slowed as he looked through her thoughts about Potter, Weasley, and Krum very carefully, looking for signs of romantic feelings that might have been thwarted by the advent of the Enchantment.

He saw that she loved Potter as a friend and a brother. He saw her impatience and her persistent physical distaste as she attempted teenage romances with Weasley and Krum. He saw her wild excitement as she held Severus in her arms at Grimmauld Place, her confusion over where the sudden feelings had come from, and her despairing attempts to seek comfort and advice from him with her unanswered owls. He witnessed her few failed attempts to give herself sexually to Krum, and he found it within himself to feel a flash of pity for the confused young Bulgarian.

Hermione felt a moment of impatience with his uncharacteristic sympathy for Viktor; she tugged him on, urging him to see all that he wished to know. She felt him examining her thoughts about her career, her attitudes toward marriage and children, and, at last, her feelings about him, right now...

He pulled her out of the chair and into his lap. Their minds were still entwined, each saturated with the other's thoughts and memories, and now he was reclining on the bed, pulling her down beside him, so that they were eye to eye. She knew, without words, that she had answered his question, and that he had answered hers – now he was entirely at her disposal – how did she wish to proceed?

Hermione leaned into him, searching for his mouth, and she found it. Oh, yes, _this_ was a kiss, this scorching conflagration launched by his lips claiming hers, as his body rolled toward her, and his torso rose to loom over her. Cleverly, his tongue laved the inside of her mouth, teasing, caressing her tongue with his; her hands tangled in his hair and she gasped out loud as he released her lips and trailed burning kisses down her throat to the juncture of her shoulder. She could feel their hearts, synchronized and beating as one, and she knew the passion burning its way through her body was creating the exact same havoc for him. Her hands found their way from his hair to his back, and quickly she pulled his shirt loose from his trousers, running her hands up and down his back, feeling his spine, his shoulder blades, the muscles in his back as he shifted his position to look down into her face, completely suffused with the power of the shared emotions and sensations throbbing through their veins.

Her eyes took in the cherished face, with its planes and angles, the thin, cruel lips, the hooked nose, and she could feel his wonder and amazement, to know, from inside her mind, that she viewed his face with desire and approval.

This knowledge seemed to hit him fiercely, like a brutal blow – always, he had been told he was ugly, greasy, loathed, unwanted, undesired …

She pushed her way into his mind with more determination now, showing him how she saw him, and with a groan, she opened up those fantasies of him that had sustained her for so long. Not only did she want him, she wanted him in this way, and this, and this …

He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers, and for the first time in what seemed an eternity, she heard his actual voice.

"Hermione, do you want … because once we start, I don't know if either of us will be able to stop."

"Why would we want to stop? YES, I want! Please..."

She struggled to a sitting position and pulled the red dress over her head, letting it drop to the floor. Severus swooped and claimed her lips again, allowing his hands to grasp her waist and then begin a slow trip up her ribcage, gently cupping her breasts. When he brushed the pads of his thumbs simultaneously across her nipples, he was pleased to hear a moan that told him his lover was going to be a vocal partner. Quickly, he turned from her to retrieve his fallen wand, and he cast a Silencing Charm before letting the wand fall again to the floor with a moan of his own - Hermione had nipped his nipple with her teeth and simultaneously run an unsure hand up the front of his trousers, grasping his length through the fabric. With a whimper of frustration, she reached for his belt. Severus pushed himself off the bed, his black eyes locked on her face, and he undressed himself quickly down to his own black briefs.

At last he stood before her, whipcord thin and lightly muscled. Hermione grasped the top his briefs and carefully, she pushed them down his hips to his thighs. The sight of his engorged penis elicited a little gasp of hunger from her as she cupped his scrotum, then traced her way up the arc of him to the glistening drops on the head of his erection.

One touch there told him that he had best occupy her, or he would be spraying in her hand like a teenaged boy.

Severus stepped out of his briefs and stilled her questing hands, pausing to kiss each palm as he stretched out beside her. He kissed each breast in turn, opening his warm mouth to suckle one breast while he rubbed the alternate nipple between his thumb and finger. He moved his mouth from side to side, and soon she was angling her hips to rub up against him. Obligingly, he moved down her body, grasped the top of her knickers in both hands, and successfully stripped them from her body, letting them drop from his nerveless fingers as he gazed at her nakedness. He pushed gently into her mind to show her how she looked to him and to let her feel how the sight of her impacted him. She was gasping from sharing that emotion when he covered her body with his, catching her lips in a bruising kiss, taking a full breast in the palm of each hand. He kneaded her as she bit at his lips, and he gently nudged her thighs apart to let her brush her damp curls against his bent knee.

Hermione surprised herself with the way she bucked her hips and humped against his knee with such abandon. After her experience of such distaste for Viktor's caresses, she had never suspected herself of having a passionate nature. She could only be glad of it.

Severus kissed his way down to her breasts, moving his hand to her mouth to let her nibble on his thumb, while his other hand gently parted her glistening folds and stroked down her cleft. She jerked against him and cried out. Gently, he stroked her with his fingers as he sucked her nipples, and when she was writhing mindlessly beneath him, he kissed his way down her belly to more closely inspect her. Using both hands, he parted her lips and was relieved to see very little tissue obscuring her vagina. He used his tongue to lick her from her opening up to the little bud, which he nuzzled before settling down to lick her nectar. Now she was truly moving her hips, pressing herself eagerly, ever more eagerly into his warm, wonderful mouth. Severus slipped one finger easily into her vagina, then followed with a second finger, slowly and gently moving his fingers in and out. He slipped in a third finger now, and pressed his long tongue through her folds, licking deeply, again and again, fingers in and out, tongue up and down, as Hermione moaned louder, and moved more frantically.

Feeling for her with his mind, he judged when, and took her little clitoris in his mouth and gently sucked, then flattened his tongue against it as she bucked and began to come, loudly, wildly. When her movements slowed, he slid up her body and took her into his arms, kissing her deeply with her own essence on his lips and tongue.

Hermione clung to her lover in the aftermath of the cataclysm that had been her first orgasm with him, joined to him in body by contact, in soul by the Enchantment, and in mind by Legilimency, and she wanted to feel the torrent move like a tide through his body, too. She reached for his erection, and he caught her hand, gently pressing it upward until her arm was extended over her head, with his hand imprisoning it just above her elbow; he sucked a nipple into his mouth, and caught her other hand in the same way as it headed south. He covered her now, with her arms pinned to the bed and his cock throbbing against her belly. As he looked down at her, he saw her looking at the glistening head of his erection, and he shuddered at the sight of her licking her lips.

"No," he whispered to her hoarsely.

Hermione shifted beneath him, a gentle rolling motion with her hips, back and forth. "No to my hands... no to my mouth... what does a girl have to do around here to get a yes from you?"

Once again, she felt Severus reach for her mind and pull her to him. His fingers were now entwined with hers as he positioned himself between her thighs and kissed her mouth.

"Spread your legs for me," he whispered to her.

The pulsing tide was increasing; they were breathing now as one. Hermione spread her legs, and she felt one hand leave hers as he reached down to probe her with his fingers, then he placed his erection at her opening.

 _Relax_ , he said in her mind, and he pressed the head of his cock inside her. Her answering moan made it difficult for him not to push all the way in. For a virgin, the most discomfort came from tense vaginal muscles unused to invasion. With an iron will, Severus kept himself from moving, allowing her to become accustomed to him. Then she shocked them both by moving her hips up, impaling herself more fully on him. Taking her up on the invitation, he thrust forward more, until he was halfway sheathed. From within her mind, he could feel the discomfort at the unaccustomed fullness, but her triumphant _Yes!_ from within their joined minds drove him to kiss her mouth. He moved his hips the slightest bit, pulling almost out, and slid back in halfway.

Hungrily, Hermione thrust up, taking more of him. When she heard his groaned, "Oh yes, oh, _fuck_ ," she pushed again and wrapped her legs around him, this time taking all of him.

Severus looked into her brown eyes, brimming in tears, and because he was saturated with her thoughts, he knew that the tears were transcendence, not pain. He put his lips by her ear, and he said, "Many, many times, for the rest of our lives, I will be buried inside of you just like this, and many, many times, it will be more pleasurable." Slowly and rhythmically, he began to move back and forth, in and out, creating that unutterable friction that drives the human race. "No matter how many times I fuck you –" she shuddered as he said it, beginning to move with him, increasing the tempo, "I will remember this time, because it will also be the first time –" he slipped a hand between them and touched her clitoris eliciting a gasp, "that I ever said –" and his fingers moved in a circular motion, bringing her right back to the edge with him, "I love you, Hermione."

And she screamed his name with her orgasm, moving against him without inhibition, meeting his hip movements thrust for thrust, until he ejaculated deeply inside of her, and he kept moving until the last tremor of his climax, repeating over and again into her ear, "I. Love. You. I. Love. You."

* * *

He had shifted enough to the side that he was no longer on top of her, and they were tangled together in a heap of legs and arms, sticky and satiated, drifting in sleep. Then there was a thumping sound, which became thudding, coming from the next room, just on the other side of the wall. It sounded like a piece of furniture repeatedly bumping into the wall. Hermione roused from slumber and cocked her head to one side as she considered the possibilities, and realization slowly dawned. She looked over at Severus, who was already watching her with a small, crooked smile.

"The sodding fool forgot the Silencing Charm," he commented.

Almost immediately, inaudible voices, one a low growl, the other a higher chant, began. Severus rolled over to retrieve his wand with a small groan. "But _we_ cast a Silencing Charm," Hermione protested as he pulled away from her.

"That keeps noises we make from being heard; it doesn't keep us from hearing other people's noise." Gathering his wits about him, Severus sat up and warded the room with a Soundproofing Charm. "Can't do a thing for the people in the room on the other side of them," he said.

Hermione sat up too, pressing herself against his back. "The Legilimency spell is gone," she mourned and pressed her lips to his shoulder.

Severus turned in her arms, surveying her dishevelment with pleasure. "The Enchantment isn't gone," he observed, capturing one of her hands and pressing it, palm to palm. They gazed into each other's eyes, feeling the coursing power flowing between them.

Hermione felt light-headed with her desire for him. "Is it always going to be this strong?" she wondered out loud, trailing her free hand down his throat, to his chest, to his belly, to his stirring cock.

"I hope so," he growled, beginning to pull the pins that held her hair, tossing them carelessly onto the floor before pressing her back onto the pillows with one hand tangled in her long curls, and rabidly devouring her mouth.

* * *

The next time she woke, it was near dawn. She felt the soreness in her lower regions with a certain satisfaction and reached for him with her arms. He was gone, the pillow where his head had lain indented but empty. Feeling abandoned, she sat up and switched on the lamp; she could hear the shower running. She went into the bathroom quietly and was pleased to hear him singing softly to himself in a pleasant baritone.

"Severus, I'm coming into the shower," she said and slipped past the plastic curtain.

He was standing with his back to the showerhead, rinsing her shampoo from his hair. Swiftly, he pulled her into his arms, kissing her mouth. "How did you know to warn me before you entered?" he asked as he ended the kiss.

Hermione chuckled, sliding her arms around his soap-slick body and letting her hands slip down to his delicious arse. "I saw Sirius Black come up behind you in the hallway at Grimmauld Place one time," she told him. "The clock was chiming the hour, so you didn't hear him. When the chime stopped, he continued walking, and you slammed him against the wall with your wand at his throat so fast it made my head spin. He shouted something really foul at you, and Mrs. Black's portrait woke up and the drapes flew open and she started screeching about blood traitors..." Hermione squeezed his arse cheeks and licked a nipple. "I warned you because I want to live to shag again..."

Severus picked up the soap and began to lather her body. "You do realize I'm forty years old?" he inquired conversationally.

Hermione released his bum to grasp his stirring cock and bring him to a full erection with three judicious strokes of her increasingly knowledgeable hand. "Yes, love, but how old is that in dog years?"

* * *

The sun was rising now over the deserted beach. Hermione and Severus walked the sand in their bare feet, allowing the morning tide to wash over their toes, her arm about his waist, and his arm about her shoulders.

"I never knew the world was this beautiful," Hermione said quietly, looking at the rosy dawn sky.

"The world hasn't changed, Pet," Severus replied.

Hermione stopped walking, and pressed herself against him, holding him tightly, clinging as she had in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. "Call me that again," she said into the white of his dress shirt.

Severus grasped the nape of her neck, under the heavy hair still damp from their earlier shower, and used his other hand to tip her chin, so that he was looking into her eyes. "Pet. My precious, beautiful Pet." He watched the beloved brown eyes tear up and moved the hand from her chin to her cheek, where he swiped a tear with his thumb, then brought the thumb to his lips to taste the saltiness.

She shivered against him, then reached her arms up to pull his head down to hers for a sweet, searing kiss. "I love you, Severus," she said against his lips.

"...and about time you said it, too," he answered, scooping her up and heading back to the privacy of the room.

* * *

They slept until noon and woke up ravenous.

Grudgingly, they pulled clothes on to brave the outside world. As Hermione was struggling to get a brush through her tangled curls, the French doors rattled, and Tonks' and Lupin's voices came through.

"You _have_ to eat!"

Severus opened the door, eyeing the duo sardonically. "Can I be of assistance?" he asked.

Lupin held up bags. "Two words, mate. Chinese food."

Severus stepped back and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "By all means, enter."

They spread the cardboard boxes across the dresser and filled their plates greedily. Tonks delved into the sack she was carrying and brought out iced bottles of beer. She and Lupin settled on one bed, while Hermione and Severus took up residence on the bed they had shared. There were several minutes of uninterrupted chewing and swallowing. Finally, Lupin pulled out another bottle of beer and twisted the top off, giving Severus and Hermione a bland look.

"Sleep well?" he inquired.

Severus glared at him. "Two words, Lupin."

"Yes, Severus? And those two words are..."

"Silencing Charm."

Hermione began to laugh, and Tonks inhaled part of a dumpling and began to cough.

Lupin patted her helpfully on the back and looked chagrined as he said, "Did I forget?"

"How you expect anyone to sleep through that ruckus is beyond me." Severus gave Lupin a sneer and went back to his food.

Lupin capitulated and changed the subject. "What are our plans for the rest of the day?"

Severus raised a brow at him. "I don't know what your plans are, Lupin. Hermione and I are planning to have a swim, a nap, and dinner."

"Another nap?" Tonks mouthed at Hermione, who giggled.

"Shall we finish up our mini-break at the pub where we started?" Lupin suggested.

Hermione spoke up. "Yes, let's. It's a lovely pub."

Severus' lips quirked into a half-smile as he looked at her. "As you wish. Dinner at the pub." He turned a scowl on Lupin. "Provided we all make it out of our rooms, of course."

Lupin rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "Hey, I'm forty years old."

Tonks leaned over to Hermione. "Forty looks good on some people, whaddaya say?"

"Fabulous," Hermione breathed, looking at Severus, who was asking Lupin, "But how old is that in wolf years?"

* * *

Lupin and Hermione cleared away the remnants of their meal while Severus and Tonks moved their belongings to one another's rooms. Then they all changed into their swimsuits, swallowed sunscreen potions, and met outdoors. Severus and Hermione settled side by side in the wrought iron terrace chairs, while Lupin and Tonks walked down the beach and splashed out into the water.

Hermione was smiling upon the spectacle of her happy friends when she was reminded of her own happiness by Severus leaning over to her. "Do you think they suspect?"

Hermione giggled at him, then leaned into a relatively chaste kiss. Pulling back from him, a thought came to her, and she said, "Severus, what are we going to do?"

He stroked one finger down her cheek. "I was wondering when you were going to think of that."

She twisted around, looking at him seriously. "We've still got a symposium to plan, and I can't think straight when I'm sitting next to you. When I'm in the next room from you, all I can think about is being back with you. How can I work like this?"

Severus gently stroked her arm. "It's like the beginning of any love affair, Pet. In the beginning, all you think about is being with the other person. The difference with us is that the Enchantment drives us. Even for Enchanted couples, though, the initial furor calms down to a dull roar, so that they can get on with their lives." He studied her face for a moment, then said diffidently, "What do you _want_ to do?"

Hermione took his hand and nursed it to her cheek before turning it to kiss his palm. "In a perfect world, I would want to go away with you and shag you senseless until I could be in the same room with you without wetting myself and could leave a room without your company and not die inside because of it."

"I don't see why we can't do that," he said evenly, rubbing her full lower lip with the pad of his thumb and watching her beautiful eyes darken with desire.

"But the symposium," she said, nibbling on the thumb at her lips and trying to keep her mind on the conversation.

"...can easily be planned by Albus and Minerva. Trust me, Pet, when I say that they foresaw this event and have planned for it." He smiled sourly. "Albus carefully orchestrates his little schemes. He deliberately brought you to Hogwarts to put you in my path, didn't he?"

Hermione nodded her head, now sucking on his thumb and insinuating a hand beneath his shirt to flick a finger across his nipple.

Severus captured the hand beneath his open shirt and removed his thumb from her mouth, pinching her on the chin. "I refuse to put on a public display for these Muggles, Miss Granger," he warned her sternly, his lips twitching.

Hermione shifted in her seat, saying peevishly, "I wish you would stop _calling_ me that."

"That can be arranged, no doubt." He leaned toward her, his lips next to her ear. "What would you _rather_ I call you, Hermione?"

Something in his tone caused her to turn her face so that they were eye to eye. She searched his face questioningly, her heart suddenly racing.

His lazy smile caused a wild swooping sensation in her tummy. "Perhaps you would prefer me to call you mine? My wife? Mrs. Snape?"

Severus cursed the damn French doors at least once before he had Hermione safely inside the room, where she could forcibly undress him in privacy, while she explained the reasons why she thought he had the most marvelous ideas.

* * *

That evening in the pub was markedly different from their first time, two nights before. There was a melancholy, end-of-holiday air, offset by a luminous, beginning-of-romance aura. Both couples were largely lost in each other and mostly oblivious to the Muggles at surrounding tables. There was a good deal of eye-gazing and hand-holding. Lupin and Tonks were utterly agog to see Severus smiling and laughing with Hermione. Albus had told them what he hoped for, but they had not believed it would actually happen.

At one point, when Hermione went to the Ladies', and Severus dropped a tender kiss on her lips as he stood to let her past him, Tonks leaned forward and said, " _Is_ it the Enchantment, Severus?"

Severus curled his lip at her. " _Was_ it a 'mate from work' who gave you the keys to the inn, 'Dora?"

Lupin reached a hand across the table. "Congratulations, Severus. I hope that you will be very happy."

Severus took Lupin's hand with a rare smile. "Thank you, Remus. I hope you'll be happy, too."

Tonks goggled at him. "It has to be the Enchantment – it's bloody well changed your entire personality."

Severus stood to admit Hermione, who had returned from the loo. "'Dora says the Enchantment has changed my personality, Pet," he commented to her as she slid into her seat.

Hermione blushed charmingly. "Oh, did you tell them?"

Severus quirked an eyebrow at her. "I didn't have to tell them. Albus did."

Hermione turned to the conspirators with a shocked face. "Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded.

Tonks held up her hands defensively. "I swore to Albus I wouldn't say a word about it. Our only job was to get you away from Hogwarts and to bring up the Enchantment in conversation."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "I should wring that scrawny, ancient neck."

Lupin grinned at him wolfishly. "I imagine that scrawny, ancient duffer could still kick your arse, mate."

Severus replied with a sneer and a rude gesture that had both girls in gales of laughter.

Lupin pulled a handful of Muggle coins from his pocket. "Let's go spend these in the jukebox, 'Dora. I want to dance with you." He stood and held his hand out to Tonks, who flushed prettily and allowed herself to be led away.

Hermione leaned into Severus's arm and pressed a kiss on the pulse beneath his ear. "If you strangle Professor Dumbledore, who's going to perform our ceremony, hmm?"

Severus looked down into the warm brown eyes and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "We don't have to rush into anything, Pet. If you want a real wedding, we can take the time to plan it. A girl only gets married once - I want you to have what you want."

Hermione turned on him fiercely. "What I WANT is my honeymoon, thank you very much. I have never had some wedding fantasy –"

Severus interposed wickedly, "Well, tell me about the fantasies you _do_ have, Pet."

"– and I want to be married as quickly as we can. _Why_ can't we elope? All we need is a magistrate!"

Severus glowered at her and spoke sternly. "I will _not_ run off with you without so much as your parents' blessing. NO. We will follow our plan, speak to Albus, speak to your parents, send the owls to your friends, and we will plan a formal reception when we return from our honeymoon. No one is going to say that I swooped down on you and tricked you into anything untoward. This marriage will take place strictly on honorable terms, or it will not take place at all. Do I make myself plain?"

Hermione watched him with a wicked gleam. "Why does it make me so hot when you're bossy and arrogant?" she whispered.

"Behave yourself, young lady, or there will be no pudding for you." He gave her a wicked gleam of his own, and she sighed happily.

"Yes, sir," she replied meekly.

He stood and held out a hand to her. "Come – dance with me."

A lovely melody was beginning as they joined Lupin and Tonks on the dance floor. Tonks had her arms wrapped around Lupin's waist, her cheek pressed to his chest, her expression one of dreamy contentment. Lupin's head was bowed, his cheek pressed to the top of her head, holding her as if she were a china doll.

Severus pulled Hermione into his arms and they began to dance together, as they had the night – no, the lifetime – before. He knew it was dangerous, rushing into the future as they were, but the Enchantment made its own rules, and he had never been surer of anything in his life than he was of the rightness of their union.

* * *

The hour was growing late, and the Muggles had all gone home. Lupin poured the last of the pitcher of beer into their glasses and held his own aloft. "Here's to mini-breaks at the seaside," he said, echoing the toast from their first night. Four glasses touched and each of them drank.

Severus replaced his glass on the table, looking at the other couple with a speculative eye. "What are you two doing next Friday night?" he asked.

Tonks grinned at him. "Want to make another weekend of it?"

Hermione said, "Severus and I have discussed it, and we would very much like to have you both stand up with us for our wedding, as best man and maid of honor."

A good deal of laughing, crying, hugging, and backslapping followed this statement, but it was agreed that Tonks and Lupin were indeed available on Friday next to attend the nuptials. Soon afterward, they left the pub and began their slow way back to the inn, speaking desultorily of meeting for breakfast early in the morning before Apparating back to their workaday Monday morning lives.

Leaving Lupin and Tonks at the inn, Severus led Hermione down to the beach, where they stood looking at the starlight on the water. "It is very sudden, Pet, this change we are making in our lives."

Hermione looked up into his face, his habitual arrogant sneer replaced by a look of warm concern. "Severus, I have wanted this ever since that night on Grimmauld Place. I had no idea why I wanted it, other than suspecting I had developed an incurable yen to devour you whole – body and soul. Now I know we've been given this incredible gift in the Enchantment. I don't want to waste another moment of my life away from you – and I know that every moment I have spent away from you since we first touched has felt like wasted time."

"You are a woman who is driven by ambition, Hermione. How will you realize your career goals buried in the wilds of Scotland, married to a Potions master?"

Hermione stamped her foot, hands on her hips and a martial light in her eye. "Do I question you about how you're going to accomplish your career goals married to me? No, I do not. I accept that you are fully capable of determining what you want to do and how you're going to do it _while_ married to me. I don't _know_ what I'm going to do with my career right now, Severus, and I don't HAVE to know right now. I'm going to get married, have my honeymoon, get settled in my married life, and then I will look about me and decide how I wish to proceed with my career. That is my plan. Now, do we have to cast _Legilimens_ again for me to make my point?"

The Potions master stood in the starlight beside this incomparable woman, with whose love and everlasting passion the Fates had blessed him, and accepted yet again that he could not explain the workings of destiny. He placed his large, elegantly made hands on either side of her face, gazing into her eyes as they felt the ineffable magic of the Enchantment wash through them, synchronizing their very heartbeats, one to the other. "No, Hermione. That will not be necessary."

And she did not protest when he swept her up into his arms and carried her through the soft, summer night, to love her yet again.


	8. Chapter 8

Master of Enchantment

Book 2

Bast: Operation Kitty

A/N: The events of this story take place in two different time periods. The first is in 1998, after the events in the Prologue of Master of Enchantment. The second is in 2001, continuing the story from Chapter 7 of Master of Enchantment.

These characters and this incredible world are the creation of the incomparable JKR; only Bast is mine.

* * *

_Just Before Christmas, 1998_

The stern-faced elderly woman poured tea from the steaming pot into two cups and pushed one across the small round table to her companion.

"You have found a suitable candidate?" she inquired doubtfully.

"Yes. Perfect for the job, really." The old gentleman reached for a piece of Scottish shortbread, raising an eyebrow at the lady, as if to ask permission.

She waved an impatient hand at him. "I do _not_ like the notion of playing tricks on the boy. Surely he has suffered enough?"

The gentleman took a bite of his shortbread, the smile of pleasure on his face causing the woman to roll her eyes. "Albus, _do_ pay attention!"

"I beg your pardon, my dear, but I do so love your shortbread biscuits," he replied apologetically.

"She has owled me frequently since the beginning of the term, and she never fails to ask after him," the woman stated.

"She owls _him_ , too," the man replied in a musing tone.

The lady set her teacup into its saucer with a spoon-rattling clatter. " _Why_ doesn't he answer her? She is obviously distraught!"

"We must be patient with him, Minerva. He has been alone for a very long time."

"But this idea of hers – what if he does harm to the animal? I cannot abide the thought of putting the creature into danger," the Animagus Transfiguration teacher said with some agitation.

Her companion noted that her unconscious facial twitch would have done any cat's whiskers proud.

"Please do not distress yourself, my dear. I will be watching – oh, very carefully. The animal will not be in any true danger."

The woman studied him for a moment and seemed to come to some decision. "So you will let her know we've set the plan in motion?" she asked, pouring herself another cup of tea.

"Yes, I owled her this morning. Operation Kitty has begun." The old man took another piece of shortbread with a pleased sigh.

* * *

Severus Snape threaded his somewhat unsteady way through the unlit corridors and down the staircases toward his dungeon quarters. He had spent years of his life making his way through this castle in the dark; his satisfying state of inebriation was no deterrent. In the week before Christmas, the corridors were virtually empty of students. The Dark Lord was vanquished and the Wizarding world had many things to be thankful for this holiday season. Severus, for one, was grateful for the three days he had just spent in London, haunting wonderful book stores and drinking good brandy in peace and quiet, away from his usual life at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Reaching his own door, he tapped the handle with his wand to unlock it and entered his rooms.

Another lazy wave of his wand lit the candles. He set his bag on the table by the door and proceeded into the sitting room, where a muttered " _Incendio_ " lit the fire in the hearth. He was thinking that one more snifter of brandy before bed was a fine idea as he settled in the leather wingchair and picked up the book there, a very old copy of the collected works of Emily Dickenson.

With an oath, he surged out of his chair as something scurried across his feet – something furry, with a tail. His mind first leapt to Peter Pettigrew – was it a rat? With some confusion, he shook his head – Pettigrew had died in the war. Severus had seen him fall with his own eyes. He glanced somewhat nervously around the room; it occurred to him that perhaps a cup of tea would be more beneficial than additional alcohol tonight, if he was going to be seeing dead Marauders at every turn. As his heart rate returned to normal, he resumed his seat in the comfortable leather chair, which had been his own for so long that it was molded to the bends and angles of his body. He picked up the book again and opened the front cover – and a folded piece of parchment fell into his lap.

Severus sat for a moment simply staring at the parchment. He did not have to open it; he was fully cognizant of the contents of the missive. What was puzzling him was why the letter had been in the book of poetry, rather than bound with the others, behind the massive volume of _Botanica_ on the top bookshelf. It was just another letter from her, after all. This one was the best of the lot, his favorite of them all, in which she stated with all the passion of her nineteen years that her New Year's Resolution was to never think of him again.

With an ugly sneer, he crumpled the parchment and tossed it into the fire – from which it wafted back promptly to settle on the table at his elbow, smoothed itself out, and resumed its former appearance. His sneer became more pronounced – the silly girl had charmed all of the letters so that he could not destroy them. Fine. At least he could put them away so that he did not have to _see_ them.

Severus stood and reached for the stack of letters hidden behind the heaviest book on the shelf. There were over twenty of them – not that he had counted them, of course – and he kept them bound together with a faded scarlet ribbon, threaded with gold. Once he had the letters in his hands, he felt a strong urge to read through them, just one more time – suddenly, he dropped the letters with a strangled shout as Pettigrew began to climb his trouser leg.

Severus grabbed his wand from the table and shouted, " _Incandesce_!" The darkened room was immediately filled with the light of ten thousand candles, and Severus was able to see the creature that was using his wool trousers as a ladder.

It was a minute black kitten.

With great aversion, he peeled the tiny feline from his trouser leg and held it by the scruff of its neck at a distance from his body. It was purring loudly enough for him to feel the vibration up his wrist, into his arm.

He summoned a house-elf to have the kitten removed, instructing the elf to find out to whom the animal belonged and to return it.

Then he took his suddenly-sober self off to bed.

He was sound asleep when he felt a warm, reverberating presence next to his face, on his pillow. Severus went rigid. The war had not been long over, and his years of espionage had honed his self-control. With cat-like speed, his wand was in his hand, and in the light of his unspoken _Lumos_ , he saw the kitten.

Sleeping.

On his pillow.

His rage undoubtedly emotionally scarred the house-elf on the receiving end of it. The elf, called Corky, stood wringing his hands pitifully, eyes averted, and repeated over and over that he had been unable to find the kitten's owner. He assured Severus that he had fixed a box for her in the kitchen with a soft blanket and a saucer of milk and had left her sleeping there when the kitchen elves retired for the night.

"Master Snape, sir," Corky squeaked, "perhaps the kitty is being magical." The elf dared to peek up at the nasty expression on Severus' face. "The kitty is not needing help to come to your rooms if she is being magical, sir," he explained.

Severus snarled a dismissal at the elf and placed the kitten in a small wooden crate he Summoned from the storeroom in his office. It still smelled of shrivelfigs, but would safely hold the animal until he could take it to the village the next day and dispose of it.

Ignoring the plaintive mewling, he put the crate in his study and placed a Containment Charm on it. Then he closed the study door, crossed the sitting room to his bed chamber, closed that door, and climbed back into his bed.

When he next woke with the kitten on his pillow, not thirty minutes after imprisoning her in his study, he shouted at her. She was quite tiny, just a ball of black fluff with a pointy face, enormous blue eyes, and an attitude. She did not so much as hop down from the bed when he began to scream at her. Instead, she began to wash herself while he ranted.

Exhausted, Severus stormed off to sleep on the sofa in the sitting room, leaving the kitten in possession of the pillow. When he later became aware of the ball of warmth curled up between his belly and the back of the sofa, he growled to himself and went back to sleep.

The next day, Severus closed the intruder into the wooden crate and personally took it to Hogsmeade. The animal Healer had an office in a shop, which sold pet supplies and which had a small selection of magical animals for sale.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but we don't operate a lost and found service," the Healer explained patiently.

"Then sell the thing!" Severus snapped. "It obviously has magical powers. Sell it; keep the gold for your trouble." Shoving the crate across the counter into the hands of the startled Healer, he stalked out of the shop.

It was really infuriating that the kitten beat him back to the castle.

Then the war of wills began. If he could not prevent the animal from frequenting his rooms, he could certainly ignore it. What he could not bring himself to do was to physically harm it. How easy it would be to simply feed it to one of Hagrid's Hippogriffs! But he didn't do it.

He began a campaign to freeze it out, instead.

Unwilling to share a pillow with the creature, he took to sleeping upright in the leather chair in his study, with his feet on the desk. The kitten would perch on the back of the chair, or if he was sleeping heavily enough, she would venture into his lap. Upon waking, he would stand, unceremoniously dumping her to the floor, and stomp off to shower. She followed him from room to room in his quarters, constantly in his presence. He refused to feed her, thinking that if she was capable of Apparating, then she could bloody well hunt for her own food. When he dined in his own rooms, she would sit on the floor in his small kitchen, watching each bite he put into his mouth.

He was relieved to find that she did not follow him to the meals he took in the Great Hall, nor did she shadow him up and down the castle corridors. It seemed that her powers of Apparition were confined to his quarters. When he realized this, he moved some things into an unused set of rooms and left the kitten in possession of the entire apartment.

A week passed before Corky, the house-elf, approached him again. This time, he was in his office. "Corky is begging your pardon, Master Snape, sir," Corky said, bowing so low that his nose nearly bumped the floor.

Severus looked up impatiently from the journal he was reading. "Well?" he demanded.

"The kitty is being sick, sir," the frightened house-elf squeaked. "The kitty is not eating, and the kitty is not sleeping, and the kitty is sitting by the door and waiting for Master Snape."

"The kitty can go the devil!" Severus snarled. "I do not _wish_ to have a cat!"

As the house-elf bowed his way out of the office, Severus went back to reading. It was a fascinating journal article concerning the preservation of eel eyes. He read the same paragraph three times and then thrust the periodical away from him with such violence that it flew off the desk, taking a stack of papers and two quills with it. Stomping out of the office, he slammed the door with unnecessary force and charged into his quarters, ready to remove the damned cat once and for all.

The kitten lay on the floor by the door. She was on her side; her eyes were nearly closed, and she was breathing very quickly in a sickly kind of pant. She appeared so malnourished that it seemed a miracle that she could draw breath. Panicked, Severus knelt and scooped her into his hands. She did not wake or make a sound. He carried her to the table in the small kitchen and laid her upon a tea towel. From his robes, he withdrew a glass dropper and turned to the sink for water to fill the dropper. Then, he carefully opened the tiny mouth and placed a few drops of water upon her tongue, stroking her throat to help her swallow.

He needed some of the vitamin solution he prepared for Madam Pomfrey each school year. Nestling the kitten carefully to his chest with one hand, he went back down the corridor to his office, then into his storeroom to retrieve the vitamin potion. He returned to his rooms, and placing the kitten back on the tea towel, he alternately fed her dribbles of water and vitamin drops, through the night.

Dawn found him dozing at the kitchen table, one long-fingered hand resting on the kitten's fur. She roused and mewled at him, but he did not wake until she began to clean the hand cradling her.

"Your tongue feels entirely repulsive," he informed her, unaccountably relieved to see his erstwhile tormentor on the mend.

Severus nursed the kitten carefully, making sure she ate and allowing her to sleep on his pillow each night. It was not an unpleasant sensation, having another living, breathing creature purring in his hair at night. He called her Bast, after the Egyptian cat goddess. She seldom, if ever, left his rooms, and few people knew of her existence.

* * *

_July, 2001_

Severus led the way down into the dungeons, his fair companion following in his wake. They were each dressed casually and they carried small bags. Severus unlocked the door into his quarters and stood back to let his guest enter first.

He placed his bag on the table by the door, then took the lady's bag and placed it beside his own. A swift dark figure moved past his legs and leapt onto the top of the bookcase near the door. The cat was black from her nose to the tip of her tail, with the triangular face and china blue eyes of a purebred Siamese. Her coat was sleek and glossy, pure black, more beautiful than any animal pelt Severus had ever seen. Severus inclined his head toward the feline, and she butted his face with her head, meowing and purring loudly.

"Good evening, Bast," Severus said conversationally.

With the grace of a panther, Bast sprang onto his shoulder, her claws finding purchase in the fabric of his Slytherin Quidditch tee-shirt; she continued to head-butt him, her purrs loud in his ear.

The lady at his side stood like a stone, staring at the spectacle of Severus Snape accepting the head-butting affections of an obviously besotted cat.

Severus reached out an arm and pulled the woman to his side. "Bast, this is Hermione."

The cat immediately ceased her attentions to Severus and turned her inscrutable gaze to Hermione. Stretching her long neck, she delicately sniffed Hermione's cheek, then her ear, and finally, her throat. Severus watched this display with sardonic amusement, one eyebrow quirked at Hermione's tense acceptance of the feline inspection.

Bast pulled back from Hermione's throat and meowed once at Severus before touching her wet little nose to the tip of his over-large one. After bestowing this mark of acceptance, she head-butted Hermione once, then sprang from Severus' shoulder to the shelf of a nearby bookcase. Her landing dislodged a bundle of papers, which tumbled to the floor. Severus quickly leaned to retrieve the bundled parchment while Hermione's attention was riveted on the cat.

"Severus, she's exquisite," Hermione breathed, extending one hand to stroke the exceptionally soft black fur.

"Yes, she's quite aware of that," he replied, surreptitiously holding one hand behind his back.

"I never imagined she would be so beautiful."

"Why should you? You didn't know I had a cat," he said dismissively, taking one step backwards in the direction of his study.

"Are you a good kitty?" she cooed to the cat as she scratched the lovely head.

"…contradiction in terms…" Severus muttered.

"Or are you a bad kitty?" Hermione continued, stroking the cat's throat.

"…that's just redundant…" Severus complained.

Hermione looked around, noticing his furtive movement away from her.

"The bathroom is directly through the bedroom," he informed her helpfully.

"I don't need the loo, thank you."

"And the kitchen is that way." He nodded to the opposite wall. "If you're thirsty, or…"

"Severus? Why are you trying to get rid of me?" She took a step towards him, noting his posture. "What's behind your back?"

Bast chose this moment to meow again; Severus scowled at her belligerently. The elegant cat continued to meow in a talkative way, until Severus resignedly produced the bundle from behind his back. "Just some papers…"

Hermione walked up to him and took the stack of letters, bound with a faded scarlet ribbon, from his hand. She stared at them, her finger tracing the gold threads in the grosgrain, then looked up searchingly into his face as she pushed on toward him.

"These are the letters I sent you from Bulgaria… the ones you never answered."

Severus nodded mutely, seemingly embarrassed.

"And this ribbon – I used it to tie my hair back in Advanced Potions… I thought I had lost it – I always kept it with my cauldron, and then it went missing one day."

Severus' pale face was flushing; his eyes were darting to the side, as if seeking out an avenue of escape. Hermione continued to advance on him, and he continued to retreat until he felt the wall at his back.

"You took my ribbon from my cauldron, didn't you? You took it in seventh year, before the night when we first touched –" she slapped the stack of letters against his chest, "you took it, and you kept it because you were _already_ interested in me!"

The limpid brown eyes gazing up into his discomfited face were like a catalyst; Severus pulled her against him with a jerk and buried one hand in the tangle of curls pouring down her back. "What exactly is your _point_?" he demanded, fastening his own intense scrutiny on her parted lips.

The packet of letters dropped from her suddenly nerveless fingers as the brushfire passion ignited between them. "I … I don't remember," she answered, winding her arms around his neck and swaying into his kiss.

The packet of unanswered letters landed on the floor at their feet; Bast jumped down beside the forgotten billets and curled her tapered tail about her, quite satisfied with her night's work.

* * *

The next morning, the elderly lady poured tea from the steaming pot into two china teacups and pushed one across the small table to her companion.

"Have you spoken to your parents yet?" she inquired, offering the younger woman a shortbread biscuit from the china plate before her.

"We're meeting them for lunch today," the young woman replied, taking a biscuit and nibbling on it. "I met the cat last night," she commented.

The stern face of her companion broke into an uncharacteristic smile. "Isn't she fine?" she said fondly.

"Wherever did you find her?"

"Albus found her, of course. Sometimes, it seems as if he can call creatures into being simply by his need of them." She shook her head disapprovingly. "I must confess, Hermione, that the cat was the very thing Severus needed, though I was opposed to the idea at the time. She was company to him, during that transition from spy to … human being." She shot a sharp glance at the younger woman. "Although there are those who still question the 'human' bit…"

A soft smile lit the eyes of the bride-to-be. "All of his bits are human, I promise you."

The elderly lady choked on her tea. "Miss Granger! Please keep your observations regarding Severus Snape's _bits_ to yourself!"

* * *

Severus woke in his own bed when the candles automatically illuminated, notifying him that breakfast would soon be served in the Great Hall. It occurred to him that he was naked beneath the sheets, and for a moment, he wondered why. Then the memories of the last four days flooded into his mind, and he rolled over to say good morning – but she was gone.

The note propped on her pillow informed him that she had gone for morning tea with Minerva McGonagall. He groaned when he remembered their itinerary for the day, which included lunch with her parents and an evening visit with "the boys" – Potter and Weasley. He pondered the dreaded components of each interview and found he could not decide which encounter he faced with more dismay.

Perceiving that he was _finally_ awake, Bast playfully launched herself at the agitated movements from under the covers; she received only a firm nudge from his foot for her troubles. Abandoning her game, she curled up beside him. Severus propped himself with the pillows and began to stroke her fur while she purred loudly.

Speaking conversationally, Severus said, "Bast, Hermione is coming to live with us. And, I want you to know, she has a cat named Crookshanks…"

* * *

A/N:  
Once upon a time I had a Siamese cat, who mated with an interesting, dark stranger – the Severus Snape of tomcats, I like to think. In the litter of little Siamese kittens was one pure black kitty, with the physical characteristics of a Siamese. My son, who was having an Anne Rice moment, named her The Kitten Lestat. Bast is based on Lestat, who became a special needs kitty after being attacked by an adult cat when she was nine weeks old; Lestat survived the assault, only to fall prey to a strange skin disorder at the age of 3. As my husband, the erstwhile Slytherin, always says, "Bad Kitty is redundant, and Good Kitty is a contradiction in terms." Lestat's attitude was, "You may worship me, if you wish." This story is my tribute to her; she is undoubtedly climbing the curtains up in Kitty Heaven.


	9. Chapter 9

Master of Enchantment

Book 2

ii. Meet the Parents

They met in her Hogwarts rooms, each of them freshly washed and groomed. They agreed upon Muggle dress for this excursion; Hermione, mainly because it was still so hot, and Severus, because he felt the Grangers would be less reminded of his anomaly if he were not swathed in black robes.

She greeted him at the door with a dazzling smile and pulled him into her tiny sitting room, only to begin snogging him rather wildly. Severus quickly put a stop to her exploratory groping; she sighed against him with resigned acceptance when she heard his dark chuckle.

"Shall we start this outing off with a bang by showing up late and smelling of sex? _That_ would certainly impress them."

"You're right." She turned from him and began to reapply her lip-gloss at the mirror over her love seat.

"I am always right." He crossed his arms over his chest and curled his lip at her.

"...always a right _pain_ ," she muttered to the mirror.

"Speak up, dearie, I don't think he heard you," the mirror advised her helpfully.

"Oh, sod off," she said crossly, recapping her cosmetic and returning it to her pocket.

Severus grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him, surveying her critically. "Always look your opponent in the eye when delivering a verbal insult," he instructed, using the pad of his thumb to remove a dot of colour from the corner of her mouth. "It is far more intimidating for the recipient as well as far more satisfactory for you."

She gazed up at him in amazement. "Do you actually have all of this stuff written _down_ somewhere?"

Severus quirked an eyebrow at her. "Do you doubt it?" he inquired provocatively.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Probably in the Slytherin House Handbook," she sniped.

"Excellent, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor. Shall we go and ask your parents if we can get married, now?"

* * *

The Grangers greeted Severus with unreserved pleasure, each shaking his hand in turn and thanking him for the way he had protected their daughter and saved the life of Harry Potter in the final showdown with the Dark Lord.

"You received a commendation from the Queen, I understand?" Herman Granger asked, gesturing for Severus to precede him into the dining room.

"Very quietly, yes. Along with Professor Dumbledore and Potter, of course," Severus answered politely, ill at ease, as ever, with the mention of his honours.

"And, more importantly in the wizarding world, he also received the Order of Merlin, First Class," Hermione interpolated proudly, her eyes glowing as they rested on his face.

Severus merely bowed his head in acknowledgement and thanked Merlin when the conversation moved on to the health and wellness of the elder Grangers.

Now, settled around the dining room table, the remains of their light lunch of salads still before them, the topic came around to the reason for their visit.

Jane Granger handed Severus a cup of freshly brewed coffee and resumed her seat, beginning to stir milk into her own cup. "Please, tell us – what is the dire emergency that necessitated this meeting?" Her smile was encouraging, but it was possible to see the faint worry in her eyes.

Severus glanced at Hermione, his own courage quailing in the face of this question as it had never quailed under the red eyes of Lord Voldemort. Hermione, however, took the lead with the ever-vaunted Gryffindor courage.

"Mum – Daddy – Severus and I are engaged to be married – and we would like to have the ceremony this Friday night."

Severus realised that he was clutching the glass phial in his trousers pocket, which contained one of his more successful restoratives for persons who had fainted dead away. He was relieved to see that Jane Granger did not appear to be faint in the least; Herman, however, was looking a little bit green about the gills.

"Plainly, this is rather … sudden?" Jane said, in a rather shaky voice.

"I know that it _seems_ sudden, Mum, but it really isn't," Hermione said. "Severus and I have been ... involved ... for three years, now."

Severus resisted the urge to cover his eyes with his hand. Somehow, the words they had rehearsed together did not sound terribly reassuring at this moment as she spoke them to her parents. Now she was telling them, in effect, that her nasty old teacher had nourished designs upon her when she was still a teenager. Dimly, he wondered why he had neglected to slip a migraine cure into his pocket.

Jane continued in her calmly reasonable tone, "But, Hermione – surely you used to tell us that Professor Snape was your _least_ favourite teacher?" She smiled kindly at Severus. "No offence to you, of course, Professor..."

Severus once again inclined his head in acceptance of her courtesy. Cautiously, he cast a glance over at Herman, who looked as if he had swallowed a dose of undiluted bubotuber pus. It had apparently blistered his tongue right out of his head, and it also appeared to be having a bad effect on his lungs, as he seemed to be having a difficult time catching his breath.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Mum and Daddy – I need to tell you about the Enchantment."

Miraculously, Jane's brow cleared, and Herman actually spoke up. "We know all about the Enchantment, dumpling," he told his daughter.

Diverted, Severus turned a sardonic eye on Hermione, his lips soundlessly repeating, " _Dumpling_?"

Her withering glare seemed to contain the warning, "Don't even _think_ about it."

Her mother stood suddenly and bustled into the sitting room, returning moments later with a small book, bound in handsome brown leather. She offered the book to Hermione, saying, "This lovely little book is all about the Enchantment. That delightful Professor Dumbledore came to see us over Christmas, and he brought it as a gift." Jane's face took on a contemplative look. "I was ever so surprised to see him; we had met him at school functions, of course, but he had never come to visit us at home before. Well, once I had the book unwrapped, I just couldn't rest until I had read it all, right through to the end. And your Da' read it too, didn't you, Herman?"

Herman Granger nodded his head with some fervour. "Well, the Professor was good enough to bring it to us, wasn't he? And it was only polite to give it a read."

Hermione sat, the wind taken from her sails by this sudden burst of wizardly erudition from her utterly Muggle parents. "But, Daddy – you never read anything but dental journals and sporting magazines!" she protested faintly.

A puzzled frown appeared on Herman's face. "That's true enough, sweeting. But this was only a little book, and jolly good reading I found it. In fact, I've read it through twice," he added with a touch of bemusement.

Jane nodded enthusiastically. "I've read it three or four times, I've lost count."

Severus allowed his teeth to release their grip on the inside of his cheek. Holding out one long-fingered hand, he said, "May I look at it, Pet?"

Hermione handed it over soundlessly, a hint of understanding beginning to dawn on her.

"Then Professor Dumbledore came back to see us at Easter," Jane said, watching Severus tap the small book with his wand, while muttering quietly to himself.

"He came back?" Hermione repeated.

"Yes, and he brought that dear Professor McGonagall with him. We sat over tea and had the nicest conversation about the Enchantment." Jane looked over at her husband, who was watching Severus as if he were demonstrating some new dental technique. "Your Da' even wondered why Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore aren't a couple themselves, didn't you, Herman?"

"...because they scarcely have time left over from their MEDDLING," Severus snarled.

Herman and Jane jumped at this change in tone from their purported son-in-law-to-be, who was very nearly a contemporary of their own.

Severus passed the book back to Hermione. "It's a simple Compelling Charm," he commented to her.

Hermione took the book back into her own hands, noticing now the faint pull she felt – an urge to open the book and find out what the pages had to say to her. A wicked smile flickered across her face, and she cast Severus a look of pure mischief.

His lips twitched until he relented in an answering gleam. "Yes, Pet, the very same charm you used on your letters to me."

Jane and Herman watched this by-play with mixed emotions; clearly, these two were very much in love. Sadly, one of the two was their only child, who had yet to see her twenty-second birthday. Herman spoke quietly, as if in respect for the palpable vibration between the two lovers before him. "But does there need to be such haste?"

Severus stopped in the act of pressing a kiss to Hermione's hand, now warmly clasped in his much larger one, to answer her father. "No, Mr. Granger, there is no need for haste. It is, however, Hermione's wish to be married, to have our honeymoon and to settle into our married life before the new term of school begins on September first. And it is _my_ wish to procure for her whatsoever her heart desires." He completed this sentence while making firm eye contact with Hermione's father. He could not see the look of adoration shining from Hermione's eyes, but both of her parents saw it and realised with sinking hearts that they were about to give way on this most important issue.

"So ... you and Hermione have the Enchantment between you, Severus?" Jane asked, reaching across to place her hand on top of their joined hands.

Severus turned his onyx eyes to Jane, covering her hand with his free hand and applying a light pressure. "Can you not feel it?" he inquired gently.

Sudden tears flooded her mother's eyes, and Hermione was out of her chair and on her knees before her mother, pressing her face to her mother's knees. "Oh, please don't cry, Mum," she whispered.

Jane began to caress the tumbled curls in her lap, saying in a choked, if reassuring voice, "How can I not cry to see you so happy and to be able to FEEL how happy you are? How many mums all over the world would be happier to see their daughters married if they could be so sure of their son-in-law's love?" Jane said these last words while looking quietly into Severus's eyes.

Severus bravely held the gaze of his love's mother, nodding once in validation of her words. For his trouble, he received a glowing smile from Jane Granger; with a dawning appreciation, he saw from whom Hermione had inherited that latent incandescence.

Jane stood and encouraged her daughter to rise. She wrapped a loving arm about Hermione's waist as she led the way to the stairs, saying, "It seems as if we had better pull my wedding gown out of lavender and see what alterations need to be made..."

* * *

The exit of the women left Severus with the last hurdle he must cross in this encounter. Squaring his shoulders and straightening his spine, he turned back to Herman Granger, mentally preparing for The Father Interrogation.

Herman sat for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. Then he stood and said, "Let's remove to my study, shall we?"

Severus complied willingly, allowing the much shorter man to direct him into a smaller room, panelled in a dark wood and smelling pleasantly of cigar smoke. Mr. Granger indicated that Severus should be seated in a fine leather wingback chair, then crossed to the sideboard and picked up a decanter. "Brandy or whisky?" he inquired.

"Brandy," Severus replied, viewing the well-stocked bookcases with approval.

Dr. Granger handed Severus a tumbler of brandy and seated himself behind the massive mahogany desk. "I'm sure you understand it is my duty to make some inquiries," he said.

Severus replied, "I certainly do understand that, Mr. Granger."

The other man waved his hand. "I think we had best dispense with the formality, Severus; we are about to become family."

"As you wish, Herman."

"May I inquire as to your age?"

"I was forty-one in January," Severus informed him.

Herman nodded. "Janie and I are fifty-two; we wanted to have our practice established before we started our family." He shot the younger man a look from under his lowered brows. "Do you not foresee any problems in marrying a woman young enough to be your own daughter?"

"I am not so foolish as to imagine that any marriage will be devoid of conflict, Herman. One point of contention may very well be our age difference. It may allay your fears somewhat to know that Hermione and I are of very similar temperament. We are both bookish and we share a disinclination for a great deal of social interaction." It was the nicest way he could devise to say that they were too intelligent to require or relish the company of the dunderheads who comprised ninety-nine percent of the rest of the world.

Herman had to nod his head in agreement; it was apparent that this strange man did indeed understand his swotty child. Making a quick recovery, he came back with the hardest question of all.

"What are your means? How do you intend to provide for my daughter?"

Severus had carefully prepared for this one.

"I have a small independence, including a house in Wiltshire with a bit of land, which I inherited from my mother. That will be our permanent residence. I also have my salary from my teaching position at Hogwarts and my rooms there, which will be our primary residence during the school year. Additionally, I have income from published works, as well as income from licensed potions, which are brewed commercially. Financially, Hermione will be secure."

Severus took a mouthful of brandy, trying very hard to look like a man who has just presented an inarguable position, rather than like a schoolboy who has just been fresh with his teacher.

Herman found himself at a bit of a loss for words. It is one thing to skewer a school teacher to the wall about how he intends to provide for your daughter; it is a different matter entirely to question a bona fide war hero who appears to be independently comfortable, if not wealthy. Before he could open his mouth, the professor spoke again.

"I have instructed my man of business to draw up a formal statement of my assets for your perusal, Mr. Granger. I am willing to sign any type of contractual agreement that is customary in Muggle marriages."

"You most certainly will NOT," Hermione interjected from the doorway behind him.

She advanced into the room, her mother following behind her, and stood between Severus and her father with her hands on her denim-clad hips. "Prenuptial agreements are for rich people. I'm not rich, so that's not an issue."

Severus quelled her with an admonitory tone and a stern look. "Your parents will be fully satisfied with the arrangements concerning our marriage before it takes place, Hermione. _All_ of the arrangements. If you wish to interfere in said arrangements, please be my guest – providing you understand that the wedding will take place only when your parents are _completely_ satisfied."

Hermione was gaping, with an unattractively opened mouth, at her betrothed, while he stared her down unflinchingly. Behind her back, her father met her mother's eyes, and the two of them bit their lips and struggled to keep from expressing their amusement – as well as their unqualified amazement at this masterful demonstration of how to bring Hermione to a screeching halt without stirring from one's chair, or raising one's voice. Jane was the first to lose control of her emotions, and her outburst of laughter created the same reaction in her spouse by an apparent domino effect. Turning her back on Severus, Hermione looked back and forth from her mum to her dad.

"What? What is so bloody funny?"

Herman mopped his streaming face with his pocket handkerchief, saying, "Oh, nothing, dumpling. It just does a body good to see you brought up short that way." Herman pocketed his handkerchief and stood, extending his hand to the younger man across the desk. "Severus, you have our blessing. There won't be a need for any contracts. I have read about the Enchantment, and I've seen you handle our little spitfire like a man born to take on the job. God bless you, son, and welcome to the family."

Severus stood with alacrity and set his beloved gently aside as he shook her father's hand. "Thank you, Herman. Please know that I fully appreciate the honour you do me by accepting my suit for your daughter's hand."

Jane stepped up then and stood on tiptoe to press a kiss to Severus's cheek. "I know you'll take good care of one another," she said softly.

Herman came from behind his desk to envelop his child in a fatherly hug, adjuring her to be a good girl and to do as Severus told her, while Jane reminded her to drop the dress with Madam Malkin for alterations, without delay. With further promises to keep in close daily contact regarding the wedding details, Hermione and Severus took leave of her parents, carrying away not only a carefully packed wedding gown, but also the Grangers' warmest blessings.

* * *

As they strolled back up to the castle from the Apparation point, Hermione tucked her hand into Severus's elbow. "That went well," she offered.

"Well, considering that Albus and Minerva spent six months laying the groundwork, I can't say I'm surprised, Pet."

"I can't believe my dad is already telling me to obey _you_!"

"He's a wise man, your father. Obviously, _he_ knows I'm always right."

"... a right pain in the _arse_ , maybe," came the muttered reply.

"I can see that some one-on-one tutoring will be required to teach you the proper way to deliver an insult," Severus said, stepping through the great oak doors and pressing Hermione up against the stone wall of the entrance hall.

"Severus!" she expostulated, looking around him for witnesses.

"Hermione!" he mocked back at her before fiercely claiming her mouth in a lip-bruising kiss.

Some indefinable time later, he lifted his head to gaze into her passion-smudged eyes. "Only a love beyond my previous comprehension would have made that little jaunt conceivable," he said to her, his voice hoarse with desire.

Hermione held onto his biceps with her hands, still too overcome by the power of the Enchantment to be able to function very well once in the throes of it. Severus took a moment to let his burning eyes devour her face – her unfocused gaze, her delicious mouth – and to feel the pounding of the Enchantment that focussed all of their energies upon each other. Cursing, not for the first time, the inability to Apparate within the castle, he guided her to her rooms, which were closer than his, and settled her upon the edge of the bed while he began to strip out of his clothes.

Hermione recovered some part of her consciousness, noting the time on the clock on her bedside table.

"Severus!" she protested weakly, as he unbelted his trousers and stepped out of them and his briefs in one motion. "The time! The boys will be here in an hour." Her voice dwindled to a whisper as he advanced upon her and began to undress her with impatient competence.

"Potter and Weasley can respect their betters and wait their turn," he replied savagely. "I have earned a reward, my Pet, and I intend to _have_ it, do you understand me?"

He jerked her naked body into his own naked lap, his hands roaming her flesh relentlessly, his voice harsh in her ears, as he reiterated his possession of her with each caress.

With all thought of interruptions burned from her mind, Hermione twisted in his lap to straddle his hips, pressing his shoulders down until his back was flat on her mattress; with a twist of his own, he slid into the warmth of her core, and they groaned as with one voice.

"Yes, Severus, my darling, only love – I think we understand one another very well."

* * *

Oddly enough, the boys _did_ have to wait.


	10. Chapter 10

Master of Enchantment

Book 2

iii. Meet the Boys

Harry took another swallow from his pint and craned his neck to look out the window of the Three Broomsticks.

"Where is she?" he muttered, half to himself.

Ron sipped his firewhisky and watched Madam Rosmerta cross the room. "You know witches, mate. Add twenty minutes minimum to any time they give you." He tore his eyes away from the comely pub owner and grinned at his closest friend.

"Hermione's not like that, though," Harry objected, running a hand through his untidy shock of black hair. "She's never acted like a _girly_ girl."

Ron shrugged. "Ask me, it's time she _started_ to act like a girly girl. How is she ever going to get a man bossing everyone around the way she does?" He took another drink of his firewhisky, with a reminiscent look in his eyes. "She can be downright scary. You don't ever want to try to make out with her; she'll be telling you how to do it."

Harry pressed his lips together for a moment, striving to retain control of his urge to laugh. "I guess that _would_ be kind of scary," he said neutrally. He would never forget the tortuous months when Ron and Hermione had tried to be a couple, back in the summer after sixth year, which carried on into the beginning weeks of their first seventh year term. Their usual constant bickering had escalated into something resembling a military action, where the only modes of operation were blitz attack and cold war. Harry and the other seventh year Gryffindors had taken cover and prayed for the hostilities to end. The whole affair had put Harry off girls and romance for some time.

He decided to change the subject. "Ginny says the wedding plans are coming right along," he commented.

"Does she?" Ron asked with mild interest. "I guess it's a good thing that Mum is there to help with the planning, since Luna's mum has passed on."

"Ginny says that since your mum was on such a tight budget planning our wedding, that she really has more – erm – _scope_ for her ideas this time around."

Ron frowned into his glass of firewhisky, paying scant attention to the conversation. "Nah, we're having a small wedding; just family and close friends."

Harry glanced worriedly at his best friend. "Is that what Luna tells you?" he asked carefully.

Ron shrugged. "It's what we agreed on in the beginning. She talks about it, mate, but I don't pay it much mind. Nod, agree every now and then, read the Quidditch scores in the _Daily Prophet_..."

Harry considered leaving it alone, as retreat can often be considered the better part of valour. But Ron was his best friend, and it was his duty to not allow him to be blindsided. "You might want to start paying attention to what Luna tells you about the wedding, mate."

Ron looked up at him. "Why?"

"You remember that Professor Lockhart got well enough to leave St. Mungo's, right?"

Ron was looking bewildered. "What's that got to do with my wedding?"

"Well, he's taken to writing books about interior decorating and party planning," Harry explained patiently.

Ron was still giving him a "what are you on about" kind of look.

"...and your mum has hired him as your wedding consultant."

There was a loud crash as Ron's chair hit the floor, and his glass of firewhisky shattered at his feet.

"She WOULDN'T!" he shouted.

In a flash, Madam Rosmerta was upon them with a broom and a dustpan in her hands and a martial light in her eyes.

"You know that you boys will always be welcome in my pub," she said, beginning to sweep up the shattered glass. "I'm sure we couldn't be more grateful for all you did to rid us of You-Know-Who," she added, finishing her sweep-up with a final ruthless swipe. "But that does _not_ give you the right to come in here, shouting and breaking things." She glared at them in her most effective Keep-the-Hogwarts-Students-in-Line way. "Now, sit down and behave, or I'll be telling your wife, Harry Potter, and your mum and your girlfriend, Ronald Weasley, exactly how you carried on!"

She whirled and marched away from them, leaving them both with their mouths agape.

"...but _I_ didn't _do_ anything!" Harry protested indignantly, stung by the threat to tell his wife.

Ron righted his chair and sat down, shaking his head. "They are all barking mad, mate. Every single last one of them. We love them, and we've got to have them, but they are _all_ mental."

Harry nodded in agreement before taking a deep breath and returning to the subject at hand. "Brace yourself, Ron, and pay attention. I'm going to tell you about the flocks of pink doves, the cherubs raining twinkling pink confetti upon your guests – and by the way, the number of names on your guest list is approaching the population of Hogsmeade itself. There will also be colour-coordinated programmes engraved with your names that sing a song especially composed for the occasion by Lockhart himself – and which throw in a quick advert for his latest book after the last verse..."

* * *

Hermione shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket and hurried down the path to the castle gates and the road into Hogsmeade. Severus accompanied her, his long legs moving easily over the ground, and frowned at her agitation.

"So much fuss for the Boy Who Lived and Lived and Lived," he grumbled.

"You _don't_ have to come with me, Severus. I told you that." Hermione quickened her pace, glancing again at her wristwatch.

"And deny Potter and Weasley the chance to denigrate me to my face? That wouldn't be sporting of me, Pet."

She hunched a shoulder at him, keeping her face averted as she walked. "You're acting like a right prat and have been these last thirty minutes."

Severus grasped her arm gently and pulled her to a stop. She glowered at the ground and shifted away from him. He leaned in close to her ear. "My Pet, thirty minutes ago you were naked in my arms and begging me not to stop." He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up. "Smile for me. I will endeavour to behave like an adult, which is more than you can say for Potter or Weasley."

Hermione gave him half a smile. "Sometimes you can be completely impossible, you know," she said, turning and continuing on her way.

"But it gives you a finer appreciation of me when I am only utterly objectionable," he reminded her. Severus was bantering with her, but he was also observing her unobtrusively, trying to ascertain her mood. Ever since they had scrambled out of bed and begun to throw their clothes on, she had been distant and distracted.

He continued on with her quietly for a space, watching the emotions flitting across her expressive face. He cursed himself for a fool, remembering his resolve, earlier in the day, to let her make this trek alone. As the day had worn on, he had found himself less and less willing to allow her out of his presence for an indefinite period of time. Resolutely, he decided to step out of this situation with as much of his dignity as he could salvage.

Just shy of the Three Broomsticks, Severus stopped and gently touched her shoulder. Hermione also stopped and turned to him rather impatiently. "What _is_ it, Severus? I am already so late!"

Severus reached around and placed the large palm of his hand on the nape of her neck, holding her head as he bent to press a sweet, lingering kiss on her lips, concentrating all of his considerable focus on the task at hand. When he felt that he had her complete, undivided attention, he ended the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. "I'm going along to the Hog's Head for a pint, Pet. You can come find me there when you're finished here." He gave her neck a gentle squeeze and then walked away from her without a backward glance.

Hermione stood for a moment, feeling that ineffable sense of loss that assailed her whenever she and Severus parted and the Enchantment ceased to thrum through her blood. Her eyes tracked his progress as he walked away from her to turn down the side street upon which the Hog's Head Inn was located. His long legs carried him quickly; she hungrily absorbed his form in the snug black denims and lightweight green cotton shirt he wore until he moved out of her line of sight.

"Get a _grip_ ," she muttered to herself, tearing her gaze away from the place where she had last seen him. She gave herself a little shake and marched into the Three Broomsticks in a very businesslike way.

* * *

Severus meandered down to the Hog's Head Inn and pushed his way inside. Aberforth Dumbledore, the barkeep, eyed him askance when he spied the Muggle clothing. Severus snorted at this reaction and pulled coins from his pocket. "Pull a pint and hold your tongue," he grumbled at the older wizard.

He turned his back to the bar and looked around at the occupied tables. Deep in conversation in a dim corner, he spied Lupin and Tonks, their heads together and their hands clasped on the tabletop. Ignoring their obvious desire for privacy, he took his beer from Aberforth and walked over to their table, setting his glass down and sliding into a chair.

"Good evening," he said glumly.

Lupin surveyed Severus' dejected face with some amusement; Tonks looked more exasperated.

"Have a seat, Severus," she said, somewhat acerbically.

Lupin shot her a silencing glance and said pleasantly, "Hullo, Severus. Out for an evening stroll?"

Severus sipped his beer disconsolately. "Hermione's at the Three Broomsticks –"

"– with Harry and Ron, we know. We saw them in there waiting for her," Tonks supplied. "That's why we're _here_. To avoid company."

Severus nodded, gazing off into space. "I don't blame you a bit."

Tonks rolled her eyes, but her ready sense of humour was tickled by Severus' self-absorbed oblivion. She looked over at Lupin, biting her lip to keep from snickering; Lupin lifted her hand and kissed her fingertips. She lovingly stroked a finger over the scar marring his lower lip, completely diverted from the Slytherin drama queen across the table. Lupin nodded toward the back of the pub, where the bathrooms of questionable cleanliness were located. With a resigned sigh, Tonks excused herself and walked away from the table.

Severus watched her go, then looked over at Lupin, noting the lines of fatigue in his face. "Wearing you down, is she?" he inquired snidely.

Lupin pursed his lips and nodded. "You have _no_ idea," he said with feeling.

Severus raised his eyebrows. "Don't I?" he asked in some amusement.

The two Hogwarts professors, both still in Muggle dress after their weekend holiday with Tonks and Hermione, looked somewhat out-of-place in this all-wizard community. They proceeded to set themselves further apart when they startled the other patrons of the pub by erupting in a crack of laughter that went on for an oddly long time. Tonks, who was quietly conversing with Aberforth at the bar, smiled indulgently when she heard the sound, knowing that the two men were undoubtedly talking about their newly found – and much younger – girlfriends.

Severus recovered from the unaccustomed activity of laughing before Lupin had stopped his own chuckled aftershocks of mirth. Slanting a sneer at his one-time schoolboy enemy, and current best man of his wedding, Severus drawled, "And you thought it would be hard to keep up with them _dancing_..."

* * *

Harry leaned closer to Hermione, a look of stark concern on his face. "Hermione, have you had Dumbledore check you over for possible Dark spells? Or did Snape give you something unusual to drink just before you started to feel this way?" He pulled his wand from his belt, his green eyes fastened on the face of the girl he loved second only to Ginny. "I can do the check now; it's simple enough, and something we learned in Auror training."

Hermione responded to him with rank amazement. "How _dare_ you say something like that to me, Harry Potter!" she hissed. "Do you think, after all the time we spent training how to fight Voldemort and the Death Eaters, that I would be unable to detect some kind of _spell_ put on me to make me fall in love? Or that I would be stupid enough to drink an unknown substance?" She felt her indignation spiralling out of control and remembered her intention to remain calm and unmoved in the face of the objections she knew she must expect from Harry and Ron. After all, both of them had suffered under the scorn and disdain of Severus Snape for the last ten years of their lives; she could not expect them to change their perception of Severus in the blink of an eye, simply because she wanted it.

Harry sat back in his seat and put his wand away, looking slightly apologetic. "I didn't mean to insult you, Hermione. It's just ... Snape, of all people!"

Hermione looked over at Ron, wondering when he was going to pipe up with his undoubtedly infuriating reaction. He had been worrying her ever since she entered the Three Broomsticks; he had barely responded to her greeting, perfunctorily kissing her cheek when she hugged him. He had been sitting without speaking ever since; he hardly seemed to be focussing on what she was saying, and the look on his face was part horror and part indignation. She had expected him to be upset, but she had not expected him to be speechless.

"Harry, have you ever heard of the Enchantment?" she began, ready to tell the story that explained so much about her relationship with Severus.

Harry frowned. "Ginny told me about it once; it's a legend about a magical true love, right?"

"First of all, it's not a legend, but a scientifically verified phenomenon," Hermione lectured in her best teaching voice. "Muggles call it 'love at first sight,' but it's more like love at first touch. It _is_ rare, but it does exist, and Severus and I have been blessed with it." She saw comprehension growing in Harry's eyes as he listened to her. "The first time we touched was the night the Death Eaters went for my parents; Severus took me by the arm, just to steady me, and it was like being hit by the steam engine of the Hogwarts Express." A smile lit her face, and Harry had to smile a little bit too in response to her happiness. "So, we're going to be married, and the wedding is Friday night and I want both of you to be there. Will you come?" She looked from Harry to Ron, who still looked severely disturbed.

Harry gave Hermione his trademark grin. "Of course I'll come to your wedding, Hermione." He jabbed Ron in the side with his elbow. "Ron will be there too, won't you, mate?"

Ron started and glanced shamefaced from Harry to Hermione. "Yeah, I'll be there," he allowed, hoping it was not something too awful he had just agreed to do.

Hermione beamed at them. "Oh, I'm glad that's all sorted out," she exclaimed. Then her expression sobered, and she placed her hand on Harry's arm. "Harry, Remus told me something really sweet when he was explaining to me about the Enchantment. Your mum and dad, Lily and James, had the Enchantment. Remember how we wondered why she went from despising him to loving him?"

"But Sirius said it was because my dad got over himself a bit and calmed down," Harry objected, puzzling over this new information.

"I'm sure that was what got him close enough for the first touch to happen, anyway," Hermione said.

They sat quietly for a moment, as if in respect for Lily and James Potter and the Enchantment they had enjoyed for all too short a time.

Harry broke the silence. "Speaking of Remus, I could have sworn I saw him outside on the pavement, snogging Tonks, of all people – right in front of the Three Broomsticks! Has the entire world gone mad?"

"So it would appear, Mr. Potter."

All three of the Dream Team flinched at the sound of the sinister voice above them and looked up at Snape with somewhat guilty surprise.

"How do you _do_ that?" Hermione demanded in amusement, patting the seat of the empty chair between herself and Ron.

"If he told you that, he would have to kill you, Hermione. Severus has to keep his student-control tactics as a closely-held secret."

Now they all leaned to look around Severus and saw Lupin and Tonks behind him, their hands entwined. Harry stood quickly and reached out to shake hands with Lupin, then he turned and offered his hand to Severus.

"Congratulations, Professor Snape. I hear we should be wishing you happy."

There was a tense moment as if every eye in the Three Broomsticks was now trained on the unlikely prospect of Harry Potter essaying a handshake with the dread Potions master, whose Potter-loathing had been legend these past thirty years.

Severus stood stock still for a moment, his eyes glued to the hand of the man across from him. He had disdained Harry Potter upon sight for the unlucky resemblance he held to his father, James, the nemesis of Severus' school years. This young man, however, had stood like a warrior in the face of Lord Voldemort and had fought shoulder to shoulder at Severus' side. Furthermore, Hermione loved this Potter as a brother and a friend. With an imperceptible straightening of his spine, Severus took the proffered hand in a firm grasp, and black eyes met green as he said, "Thank you, Harry. I will do everything in my power to make her happy."

The collective sigh Hermione heard was surely her imagination, she thought, as additional chairs were dragged up, and Severus, Lupin, and Tonks joined them around the table. Madam Rosmerta was cheerfully summoned by Lupin, and before long, champagne was being poured into the landlady's best crystal goblets, and glasses were raised in a toast to Hermione's and Severus' health and happiness.

When Ron sat, lump-like, through the toast, Tonks finally leaned over to him and gave him a nudge, saying in a playful tone, "Wotcher, Ron! You with us, mate?"

Ron looked at her with unseeing eyes, his mien that of a broken man.

"Flocks of pink doves!" he said in tones of abject loathing. "Cupids with pink confetti!" Then he buried his face in his shaking hands while Harry, Tonks, and Lupin gave way to peals of laughter, and Hermione and Severus traded looks of confusion.

* * *

The sun was setting as the two couples wended their way back to Hogwarts, having parted company with Harry and Ron at the Apparition point. Tonks entertained them as they strolled to the castle with descriptions of the depredations Molly Weasley had made in the funds provided by Mr. Lovegood for Ron and Luna's wedding. When she described how Molly had been enthusiastically aided by Gilderoy Lockhart, the wedding consultant, Severus looked at Hermione in horror.

"Tell me we will have no vulgar displays at our wedding," he begged her quietly, as they passed through the gate guarded by statues of winged boars.

Hermione twinkled up at him mischievously. "Define vulgar," she suggested.

Lupin chuckled. "This is where we wish you a good night," he said, pulling Tonks into a one-armed embrace while he clapped Severus on the shoulder.

Severus smirked at him. "Get some rest, Lupin. The wedding is Friday night, and you are the best man. Loss of limb – or exhaustion – will _not_ excuse you."

Tonks wrapped her arms about Lupin's waist and gazed up at him with a look of sheer craving. "I'll just tuck him up and be on my way," she promised.

Severus snapped his fingers as if suddenly remembering something. "I'll have a house-elf pop in with a vitamin potion," he promised helpfully.

Lupin's, "Thanks for thinking of me, Severus," earned him nothing but an evil chuckle from the Potions master.

Severus led Hermione off for a walk around the lake. He shortened his stride to accommodate hers and held her close to him with an arm about her shoulders, the long fingers of his hand caressing her arm through the fabric of her jacket.

"Thank you for being so kind to Harry," she said to him.

"I was simply responding to his very courteous overture," he answered.

"You were gracious. You called him by his first name. You went beyond civility, and it made me very happy. Thank you."

He halted their progress and framed her face in his hands, tilting it so that they were gazing into one another's eyes. "Have you noticed, my Pet, that it is my one goal to make you happy?"

She smiled tremulously. "Yes," she breathed.

He bent to catch her lips in a searing kiss, pulling her body to his ravenously, one hand tangled in the mane of her hair, the other at the small of her back, pressing her to him urgently. Her hands quickly untucked his shirt from his trousers, and she slid her hands up his flat belly, over the ridge of his ribcage to lay over his pectoral muscles, lightly massaging his skin, loving the feel of the sinew beneath her hands.

Severus ended the kiss tenderly, releasing his hold on her in gradual stages, until he had pulled her hands from beneath his shirt. He sat her upon a fallen log in the spill of the newly risen moon, beneath the arching, star-filled heavens.

With his usual grace, he knelt before her, as if in supplication, and she gazed at him in surprised inquiry – until she saw the small velvet box in his hands, and her questions were stilled on her lips.

Knowing that the sight of the box had afforded him her unswerving attention, he smiled ironically to himself and opened the box so that she could see his one heirloom possession.

"While you were having tea with Minerva this morning, I paid a visit of ceremony to my Great Aunt Seraphina Snape," he told her. "She is my grandfather's only living sibling and the only one of my family for whom I feel the least affection." One corner of his lip quirked. "She is a veritable dragon; she never married, and she rules the Snape family with a will of iron."

Hermione listened to him raptly, watching his face as he related the story to her. "She had a falling out with my father before I was born, regarding his treatment of my mother. I saw Aunt Seraphina only on holidays, and then, when I went to Hogwarts, I did not see her again until after my parents' deaths because I spent my holidays at school.

"This ring has been in my family for generations. Great Aunt Seraphina refused to let my father have it when my parents married because she did not trust him not to sell it. I never knew of its existence until today. She has given this ring to us, Hermione, and it would make me very proud if you would accept it as your engagement ring."

Severus brought out his wand and spoke a " _Lumos_ " spell so that Hermione could properly see the ring in its velvet cushion. The gemstone was a large square-cut emerald of startling clarity, set in a gold facing engraved with many overlappings of the letter "S." The aged gold was delicately burnished, reflecting the ring's antiquity.

Hermione found that she could not speak, as huge tears flooded her eyes and splashed down upon Severus' hands.

Severus shifted his weight, watching her uneasily. "Is it horrible?" he asked her uncertainly. It had looked like a perfectly adequate ring to him. He was no judge of such things, but the setting was neither too large nor too ornate, and it had the added attraction of being a valuable family heirloom. Surely most witches would be pleased by that fact?

Hermione pressed her hands to her burning cheeks. "It's beautiful, Severus. I never expected something like this! Oh, thank you!"

Severus passed a neatly pressed handkerchief to her, not letting her see the vast relief he felt at her reaction. Hermione dried her eyes, then tucked the handkerchief into her pocket.

"Let's see if it fits," Severus said softly.

He took her left hand and slid the ring onto her third finger, pleased to see that it slipped easily over her knuckle. For a moment they both gazed down at the Snape family heirloom engagement ring, then Severus lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss just below where the ring rested, as he looked deeply into her eyes.

"Will you make me the happiest man alive by doing me the honour of becoming my wife?" he asked her in a voice thick with emotion.

Her answer was to slip off the log to her knees, twining her arms tightly about him and speaking her answer with her lips pressed to the pulse beating beneath his jaw.

"Yes, please, oh, _yes_ , Severus."

The moon continued to rise, becoming smaller in the sky, as the lovers sealed their troth in the soft summer grass on the banks of the Hogwarts lake. The breezes wafted across the water and through the trees, and if any animals heard the sighs and gasps and shouts of their raw, exquisite ecstasy, none stirred from the wood to investigate.

Perhaps a human or two, pacing ancient stone halls not far away, were aware of the nocturnal activities of the Enchanted lovers in the glade; they, however, valued their own lives highly enough that they chose not to interrupt these powerful paramours on this magical night of soul-binding promises and star-dusted dreams.

* * *

A/N: I will admit that I have been asked why Severus is proposing after the wedding has been planned. The actual proposal, to say the least, was quite informal. I felt that Severus, being a formal sort of man, would do the thing properly once he had a proper ring for her. I also must give credit to my Slytherin of a husband, who came up with the marvellous idea about what Gilderoy Lockhart's next career might be and how he might terrorise the Weasley/Lovegood wedding.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: The beginning of this story represents drafts of a newspaper article covering the wedding of Hermione Granger and Severus Snape. Each newspaper article is a revision of the one before; the location of the writer is listed at the beginnings of the articles, which is also part of the progression of the story.

* * *

Meet the Beetles

**SCANDALOUS "MARRIAGE" ROCKS THE WIZARDING WORLD**

by RITA SKEETER

Hogwarts Castle, Hogsmeade – _The wizarding world was horrified on Friday night as the notorious Death-Eater-turned-spy Severus Snape was apparently joined in marriage to Hermione Granger, the unfaithful former girlfriend of the Boy-Who-Lived. As previously revealed by this reporter seven years ago, Miss Granger was the paramour of Harry Potter at the time of the last Triwizard Tournament; the disgraceful young harlot broke the heart of the eventual Triwizard Champion by abandoning him in the middle of the competition for the international Quidditch star, Viktor Krum._

At the end of the War, the barefaced Miss Granger left these shores to spend three years as the live-in fancy piece of the handsome Mr. Krum, this reporter has discovered. Viktor Krum, the 25 year old Seeker for the Bulgarian Quidditch team, said, "Granger annoyed me for the best part of three years, but I finally got rid of her. I mean, she's pretty enough, but I never wanted to marry her or anything. Professional Quidditch players get all the most beautiful women. I certainly am not ready to tie myself down to just one girl!"

Upon being repudiated by the stylish Mr. Krum, the shameless Miss Granger returned to Britain, where she immediately set in motion her plans to ensnare the elegant Severus Snape, age 41, who received the Order of Merlin, First Class, for his heroic efforts in the War. Professor Snape, who has been the Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for twenty years, became one of the most sought-after bachelors in the country when his part in the struggle against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named became public knowledge. Granger arranged to be installed as the professor's assistant, then contrived to have herself compromised by Professor Snape during a mini-break at the seashore with colleagues.

According to Draco Malfoy, age 21, who is a close family friend of the dashing Potions master, "Granger has always been such a tart. She knew that if she could make Severus believe that her reputation was ruined, he would do the honourable thing and marry her. All of the professor's friends are heartbroken for him; none of us could even bear to attend the ceremony. We know that he has tied himself to a hussy who probably won't bother to remain faithful through their honeymoon."

The marriage, which was arranged with unseemly haste, took place last night in a secret room hidden within the Hogwarts castle. Professor Albus Dumbledore, the obsolete dingbat who is currently the Headmaster of Hogwarts, performed the marriage ritual.

The bride wore a horrendous Muggle creation called a "wedding dress."

The groom wore traditional wedding robes.

The bride and groom each had only one attendant; Professor Remus J. Lupin acted as best man, while Miss Nymphadora Tonks was the Maid of Honour. It will no doubt be of interest to readers to know that both Lupin and Tonks are registered by the Ministry of Magic: Lupin, as a werewolf, and Tonks, as a Metamorphmagus.

"They couldn't find anyone respectable to stand up with them, could they?" reported Pansy Parkinson Malfoy, age 21, a pretty and vivacious member of the Junior Witches League and chair-witch of the St. Mungo's Charity Ball for 2002. "It's not as if Granger has any female friends, and none of Severus's friends could bear to take part in such a sham. I heard that the so-called best man and maid of honour were paid for their services."

The proceedings were interrupted when one of the wedding guests, a Mr. Ronald Weasley, age 21, of Ottery St. Catchpole, fainted and had to be removed before the ceremony could continue. Further information on this occurrence was received by this reporter from a house-elf by the name of Kreacher, who told us, "The Weasley brat is a blood traitor, and he loves the Mudblood girl. That is why he faints at the wedding."

The small reception was catered by Madam Rosmerta of the Three Broomsticks; refreshments consisted of wine, butterbeer, and wedding cake. There was no dancing or further evidence of true celebration at this sad mockery of an authentically festive marriage bonding ceremony. The bride and groom departed a scant fifty-five minutes after the end of the ceremony, leaving behind many questions in the minds of their friends and family; the bride's family is no doubt relieved to see her respectably settled while the groom's family are shocked and horrified by this travesty of a marriage.

After honeymooning in Wiltshire, the couple plan to make their home at Hogwarts, in the Dungeon, where the brave Professor Severus Snape will serve his life sentence as the unknowing dupe of a heartless wench.

–July 27, 2001

* * *

**WAR HERO WEDS MUGGLE-BORN NONENTITY**

by RITA SKEETER

Locked Room at the Hog's Head Inn, Hogsmeade – _The wizarding world was shocked on Friday night as the war hero, Severus Snape, was allegedly joined in marriage to the virtually unknown Hermione Granger. Miss Granger was rumoured to have been the girlfriend of Hogwarts Triwizard Champion Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, though she attended the Triwizard festivities in the company of Viktor Krum. Krum, the Seeker for the Bulgarian International Quidditch Team, was then the Durmstrang champion; although he is said to have learned many helpful spells from Granger, he was not able to defeat Harry Potter for the title of Triwizard Champion._

After leaving school at Hogwarts, Granger joined Krum in Bulgaria, where she was seen in his company at all of the nightspots enjoyed by the International Quidditch set. After three years and no success at becoming Mrs. Viktor Krum, Granger returned to Britain.

Professor Snape, age 41, who has been the Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the last twenty years, became reacquainted with his former student when she was hired as his "assistant" by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore (see corresponding story below, "Albus Dumbledore: Is He Losing His Grip on Reality?"). Granger reportedly contrived to have herself compromised by Professor Snape during a group mini-break at the seashore.

The wedding, which was arranged with unseemly haste, took place last night in a secret room hidden within the Hogwarts castle. Professor Albus Dumbledore, the obsolete dingbat who is currently the Headmaster of Hogwarts, performed the marriage ritual.

The bride wore a horrendous Muggle creation called a "wedding dress."

The groom wore traditional wedding robes.

The bride and groom each had only one attendant; Professor Remus J. Lupin acted as best man while Miss Nymphadora Tonks was the Maid of Honour. Professor Lupin and Miss Tonks are both rumoured to be registered with different divisions of the Ministry of Magic.

The proceedings were interrupted when one of the wedding guests, a Mr. Ronald Weasley, age 21, of Ottery St. Catchpole, fainted and had to be removed before the ceremony could continue. It is rumoured that the young man was overcome with emotion due to his unrequited love for the indifferent bride.

The small reception was catered by Madam Rosmerta of the Three Broomsticks; refreshments consisted of wine, butterbeer, and wedding cake. The bride and groom departed soon after the end of the ceremony. It is rumoured that the bride's family were relieved to have successfully placed her in a respectable marriage while the groom's family were saddened at the sacrifice made by the poor professor.

After honeymooning in Wiltshire, the couple plan to make their home at Hogwarts, in the Dungeon, where Professor Snape will continue to selflessly train the youth of the wizarding community while his wife is rumoured to be anticipating a life of ease and leisure.

–July 27, 2001

* * *

**SEXY SARCASTIC BASTARD WHO IGNORED MY ADVANCES MARRIES BITCHY TART WHO RUINED MY CAREER**

by RITA SKEETER

Harry Potter's Kitchen at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London – _This reporter was titillated to discover, barely in time to Apparate there and shift into my Animagus form, that the enigmatic and beastly Severus Snape, age 41, was to be married to that horrible, scheming, all-knowing cow, Hermione Granger, age 21, in a private ceremony on Friday night. I have written stories full of lies about Granger before, saying that she was Harry Potter's girlfriend and implying that she was shagging Viktor Krum through the sheets, back when she was 14 years old and the Triwizard Tournament was going on at Hogwarts. What else could I do? I had to write articles that would sell papers, and that obsolete dingbat, Albus Dumbledore, would not allow me onto the Hogwarts grounds – well, not after I had already written some nasty lies about the Boy-Who-Lived-to-tee-me-off._

I heard about Granger going to University in Bulgaria on full scholarship, and later I saw reports in the gossip columns that she was seeing Krum in Bulgaria. Everyone said Krum was begging Granger to marry him, and the daft bint turned him down, more than once. (This reporter would not turn Krum down, not even if all he wanted was a hand job under the table in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron. Have you seen those centrefold photos in

_ Playwitch _ _? What a wand!) So what if I made up a quote from Krum? How was I supposed to know he would show up at the wedding and help Potter put me in a pill bottle?_

I have fancied that snarky git, Severus Snape, ever since he was awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, for being a bloody war hero. Who cares if he's a greasy bat with a huge ugly nose when he's a certified war hero with an interesting package in his trousers? Did you _**see**_ _the artist's drawing of his private bits, based on the description in that interview with that tart who works the upstairs room at Madam Mai's Maison in Knockturn Alley? I thought it would be easy enough to get the hideous prick between the sheets, but he actually went out of his way to avoid me! Then that foul slag, Granger, came back from Bulgaria, where she could have had Krum, and immediately went to work on getting Snape! My sources tell me that it only took her two weeks to get him off on a weekend jaunt to the beach, where she proceeded to shag him through the sheets until he agreed to marry her._

Yes, I made up the Malfoy quotes, but you can just ask Draco – he'll never deny he said it – he still loathes Potter and his friends, even if they _**did**_ _end up on the same side in the war. And that stuck up wife of his will do as she's told._

I managed to get into the Room of Requirement in my Animagus form, as a beetle, and I hid in the posy that Tonks person was carrying. The room looked so beautiful, like some sacred place, and all lit by candlelight. Dumbledore performed the binding ceremony. Why is it that some pig-ignorant nits get everything they want, like thoroughly shaggable husbands and beautiful weddings, while the rest of us just have to make do with their leavings?

The bride wore an amazing Muggle creation called a "wedding dress," which made her look like a fairy queen. The tiara in her hair was twined with flowers, and that horrid mop of hair she used to have is now styled so that each long, separate corkscrew curl hangs from her head perfectly. Do you have any idea how much I would have to pay to get my hair to look like that? Severus looked a treat in traditional wedding robes in forest green. They were looking at each other in such a way – I will wager there wasn't a dry eye in the house until that Weasley kid passed out from sheer nerves over his own wedding, which is still in the planning stages, if rumours from Gilderoy Lockhart, Wedding Planner Extraordinaire, are to be believed. It broke the mood a bit while Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mad Eye Moody used Mobilicorpus to move Weasley to the hospital wing. Severus was looking pretty angry about it, but that gorgeous best man of his said something to him that made him almost smile, and then Dumbledore began the vows, so things settled down again.

I'll tell you this much: I would give my eyes to have a man look at me the way Severus looked at that Granger cow when he put his ring on her finger.

The bride and groom each had only one attendant; Professor Remus J. Lupin acted as best man while Miss Nymphadora Tonks was the Maid of Honour. People have been whispering for years that Remus Lupin is a werewolf, but if he is, it might be worth it to learn to howl. Did you see that dip in his lip? It looks like a scar. Wouldn't you like to just kiss it all better? But that Tonks chit was looking at Lupin like he was the main course _**and**_ _pudding, and I've heard she's an Auror. Maybe I better do a bit more investigating of those two before I make my move._

The reception after the wedding was a very small, intimate affair. Only the family and closest friends of the bride and groom were there, and they all seemed to know one another very well. I heard from more than one person that Severus and Granger have the Enchantment. Dear Merlin, but I hate that Granger hag, and I wish with all my heart that I could put _**her**_ _in a glass bottle and carry it around in my bag for weeks at a time. I wish I could keep her locked up until Snape forgets all about her and wants to look around for some consolation._

It wasn't until Nymphadora Tonks abandoned her bouquet of flowers on a table and dragged that divine best man into a dark corner to snog him senseless that I made my big mistake. I just wanted to get close to Severus and Hermione, to find out what was being said about their plans. I flew over and hid in the folds of Ginny Potter's robes, but she saw me and started to shriek, and that bloody Potter caught me in his hand and wouldn't let me go. From the talk I could hear, Snape said something to Granger about getting out of there _**now**_ _and something about how the person who thought it was a good idea for them to spend the last two nights before the wedding in separate quarters should be hexed into oblivion. Then they were gone, and Potter carried me down to Snape's lab and put me in a pill bottle._

Potter and Krum took me to the Hog's Head Inn and locked us into a room and forced me to shift back to my human form. They took my report away from me and made me rewrite it. Then they still weren't happy with the report, and they grabbed me and forced me to Apparate with them to Potter's house, where they poured Veritaserum down my throat and said I was to write "the truth." I hope they're happy, now that I've written all this "truth."

I've heard them talking while I've been writing this; they're sitting over there drinking Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, without offering any to me. They say that Severus is taking Granger – I should call her Madam Snape now, I suppose – to his home in Wiltshire for their honeymoon and then they'll go back and live at Hogwarts. That lucky chit will have Severus Snape to shag while she sits about the house deciding what she wants to be when she grows up. I _**HATE**_ _Hermione Granger Snape. I will never forgive her for ruining my career, and I will do her any injury I can, at every opportunity I have, for as long as I live._

Krum is reading over my shoulder, and he and Potter have their wands out and are looking at me in the strangest way. What are they planning to do with that big glass jar full of leaves and twigs? I hope this Veritaserum wears off soon.

–July 28, 2001

* * *

Severus Snape lounged against the pillows on the four poster bed in the master bedroom of his Wiltshire home and watched his bride reading through the packet of papers she had received through owl post that morning. He had been able to identify Potter's bird, the great snowy white owl, as the carrier of the letter to Hermione; the bird had also delivered the package now sitting unopened in his lap. At first he thought Potter's owl had made a mistake, until he saw his own name scrawled on the package, in the deplorable handwriting he still remembered vividly from seven years of marking Potter's school papers.

As he observed her, his wife's face reflected indignation, anger, confusion, fury, amusement, and finally, indecision. When she finished reading the last page, she lifted her eyes to the package he held, then held the papers out to him mutely. Severus took the papers and began to read Potter's letter, then Skeeter's articles, while Hermione crawled up to cradle her head on his chest.

"Am I to understand that this abominable woman has succeeded in accompanying us on our honeymoon?" he demanded at last, poking the box with his finger.

"I think Harry wanted it to be our decision what to do with her, since she admitted, under Veritaserum, to wanting to spend her life getting revenge on me."

Severus placed the papers and the box on his bedside table before turning to face Hermione, pulling her closer to him. "Are you aware of the number of beetles I have crushed into a fine powder in my lengthy career as a Potions master? I could wield a pestle in my sleep, Pet."

Hermione shuddered. "Are you actually suggesting that we should squash her like the bug she is?"

Severus pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I am merely saying it is one of many options." He paused for a moment, then spoke again, his voice strangely taut. "Make no mistake, Hermione. While I draw breath, no one will threaten you with so much as a hang nail. Potter and Mr. Krum have placed me in their debt by their handling of this situation, and I will convey my thanks to them. No, Skeeter has seriously overstepped herself this time, my Pet, and her punishment must be commensurate with her crime."

Hermione pushed herself into a sitting position, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She surveyed her husband's forbidding mien with misgiving. "Severus, I don't think I can bear to kill her."

The Potions master cupped her cheek with his hand, one corner of his thin mouth quirked up in the expression she had come to know as a smile. "I have a suggestion for you. Let us keep her in the luxurious glass jar provided for her by Potter and the inestimable Mr. Krum, at least until the end of our honeymoon. During that time, we will reflect on possible solutions to the Skeeter problem. We need take no action now. I think a fitting answer will come to us, given enough time."

Hermione wrinkled her nose at him. "All right, but I don't want her in the bedroom."

The Snape eyebrows rose humourously. "You don't think she deserves to see the actual bits?"

Hermione slugged him in the arm with an impetuously thrown pillow. "No! I have no intention of letting that cow become acquainted with any portion of my husband's bits!"

Severus uttered one of his rare belly laughs, then slipped into his dressing gown and carried the box out of the room. Hermione donned her own dressing gown and was sitting at the mirror, attempting to restore some order to her hair, when a brown barn owl flew through the open bedroom window and dropped the _Daily Prophet_ on her vanity. She slipped a coin into the bag on his leg and gave him an Owl Treat before moving to a wing chair and opening the paper.

On the society page, she found the write up of her wedding.

**WAR HEROES SEVERUS SNAPE AND HERMIONE GRANGER WED IN PRIVATE CEREMONY**

by Luna Lovegood

Hogsmeade – _Friends and family of Severus Snape, age 41, and Hermione Granger, age 21, gathered together Friday night to celebrate the wedding of this hero and heroine of the war to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Snape, Order of Merlin, First Class, and Granger, Order of Merlin, Third Class, were active players in the careful planning which led to Harry Potter's eventual triumph over the Dark Lord in the cause of the Light._

The ceremony took place at Hogwarts Castle and was presided over by Albus Dumbledore, chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The bride wore an ivory coloured duchess satin sleeveless Muggle wedding gown with a softly pleated A-line skirt and standard length train. The front bodice was lightly embroidered in silver and trimmed with glass beads, fastening at the back with tiny covered buttons.

The groom wore traditional wedding robes.

The bride and groom were attended by Professor Remus J. Lupin, best man, and Miss Nymphadora Tonks, Maid of Honour.

The small reception was catered by Madam Rosmerta of the Three Broomsticks; refreshments consisted of wine, butterbeer, and wedding cake. Following the reception, the bride and groom left the castle in a horseless carriage which was lavishly adorned with lovely summer flowers from the Hogwarts gardens; the carriage was provided for their use by Professor Rubeus Hagrid.

After honeymooning in Wiltshire, the couple plan to make their home at Hogwarts.

–July 27, 2001

Severus came back into the bedroom and found Hermione with tears on her cheeks. Taking the paper from her hands, he scanned the page, then pulled her into a gentle embrace. "Why are you crying, Pet? It seems as if Miss Lovegood correctly conveyed the details of our wedding."

Hermione chuckled damply and twitched the paper out of his hands, pointing to the article below the account of their wedding.

"See? After we left last night, Remus and 'Dora announced their engagement."

Severus followed her finger and read the engagement announcement. "What a pair of lay-abouts. We didn't even have _time_ to announce our engagement before our wedding."

Hermione dropped the newspaper on the chair she had recently vacated and unbelted her husband's robe, flipping it from his shoulders and running her hands from his pectorals in straight, parallel lines, down to his hip bones, luxuriating in the feel of the skin, the hair, and the muscle beneath her fingertips.

"Perhaps the absence of the Enchantment allows more time for reflection and forethought," Hermione purred at him, stretching up to press her lips to the pulse in this throat, first kissing, then licking, then sucking his warm skin with her warmer mouth.

Severus stood completely still, naked in spirit as well as body before the hunger and need in his Hermione's kiss. He watched as her robe puddled on the carpet about her feet, then he closed his eyes as he felt the latent magic within him seek out, then join with, the latent magic within her. In another instant, the power coalesced, and they were once again in the midst of the maelstrom that was the essence of their physical union.

His voice, utter velvet underlain with pure forged steel, sounded in her ear and echoed through her being as he said, "Reflection and forethought are highly overrated." She was unceremoniously jerked against him, half dragged and half carried the few feet back to their marriage bed and thrust amidst the bedclothes, his body following hers past the boundaries of thought or reflection, into the territory newly discovered and reverently explored, where lived their passion in the Enchantment.

* * *

A/N: Once again, I must thank my ever-so-Slytherin husband for the notion of telling the story of the wedding through different drafts of articles written by Rita Skeeter. The story title is ever-so tongue-in-cheek; after _Meet the Parents_ and _Meet the Boys_ , I could not resist this title, which is an _homage_ to the title of the first Beatles album released on the Capitol label in the United States, _Meet the Beatles_. Rock on, y'all.


	12. Chapter 12

Master of Enchantment

Book 3

Nobody Told Me There'd Be Days Like These

i: The Wedding Gifts

Hermione Jane Granger Snape lounged in the bath of her marital home, covered in scented bubbles and staring into space.

Today was The Day. The dreaded day when her honeymoon switched down a notch and her bridegroom returned to work for part of the day. It was not yet time to retire from their home – which they had agreed to dub Enchanté – but her constant companion of the last several weeks would be spending part of his days away from her, and she was finding the emotional adjustment a bit difficult. She realized that she was reacting a bit like a ... well, like a _girl_ , and she really hated it when that happened to her.

Reaching up with her foot, she used her toes to twist the faucet and bring more water into the ancient tub. It rushed in, warming her moisture-wrinkled skin. She was not unhappy – no! – simply in a contemplative mood. She had known when she left the university that finding a way to break through the self-imposed seclusion of Severus Snape was her first goal. She had _not_ known that her successful accomplishment of this task would plunge her into the whirlpool of the Enchantment, usurping all other drives, urges, and rational thought beneath the overwhelming impact of its imperative. She had willingly and eagerly succumbed to the wildfire passions and exquisite agitation of the senses brought on by the elemental magic that existed between her and the man who had become her husband – and she had known, in her heart of hearts, that she would only be able to immerse herself in the enthrallment for a short time. Yet even so, with all the intellectual knowledge in the world at her fingertips, that traitorous vulnerability laid bare by her love for Severus made her feel weak – she was terrified of being found wanting, in his eyes, because she was sick at heart to think of spending hours a day out of his presence.

With an impatient utterance, Hermione sat up in her bath, splashing the floor with cooled water. She set about washing herself in an efficient way; it was time to finish up her soaking and her sulking – her husband was soon to leave for work, and it was her wifely duty to make sure he was fed before he left their home.

* * *

Severus sat on the edge of his marital bed, glaring at the perfectly unexceptional clothing laid out for him to don before setting out for Hogwarts. It was more than a week before the students would arrive, on September 1, but there were chores to be performed, and it was his duty to attend to them.

Today was The Day – the dreaded day when his honeymoon switched down a notch, and he abandoned his bride to go to work for part of the day.

Thank Merlin – he was _exhausted_.

He was physically tired, as only a 41 year old man married to a passionate 22 year old woman can be tired – but also emotionally exhausted from the last month of entirely unfamiliar emotional intimacy with another person. The idea of being able to walk into his rooms at Hogwarts, his home for the last twenty years, and being able to sit for a quiet half hour over a cup of coffee, with a book in his lap and his cat purring at his side, was comforting. He would need the quiet time to transition from Severus, bridegroom to Hermione and eager recipient of the fruits of the Enchantment, to Professor Snape, Potions master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Severus knew his marriage had wrought changes in him, had allowed parts of his personality which had not seen the light of day since he was a child, to emerge and flourish. These differences would be abundantly obvious to his co-workers, as well as to his students. In the broadest sense, Severus really did not _give_ a damn about what other people thought of him – but it had been his habit, for years out of mind, to carefully guard all personal details of his life from the prying eyes of other people. Being a happily married man was not the type of change he would be able to hide from the people around him. He was proud of his lovely young wife and proud of the obvious verification of his virility that _her_ happiness and blatant adoration affirmed – yet there was an intensely private side of him that quailed from parading these things before the amused commentary of his nosy fellow teachers and his insolent students.

Furthermore, he was entirely conscious of Hermione's slight withdrawal from him this morning. He could not be unaware of her feelings regarding his return to work; it made him impatient, though. He had done exactly as she wished – rushed the wedding, spent their entire honeymoon here, alone – she had known it would have to end, that he would have to return to work. It was unreasonable for her to be moping about. He would have to be firm with her.

With a growl, he began to dress himself, and to inwardly prepare for the imminent assault on his fiercely protected self-image.

* * *

Hermione was setting a plate of buttered toast on the table when Severus approached the small kitchen. She saw, with a pang, that he was dressed in full bat-mode. She checked for a moment when he paused on the threshold, pulled himself up to his full height, folded his arms across his chest, and glared down his nose at her. In a flash, she was a second-year student with ill-gotten potions ingredients hidden about her person; before she could stop herself, she had averted her eyes and fallen back a step from the table.

His snort as the black robes billowed past her recalled her to her own kitchen. With narrowed eyes and a soul full of indignation, she watched him seat himself at the table and begin to serve himself from the dish of eggs and bacon.

"I can't believe you'd DO that to me!" she said, sitting down across from him and snatching a piece of toast from his plate.

Severus quirked an eyebrow at her, taking a second slice of toast from the serving plate to replace the one she had stolen from him. "No doubt the food from _my_ plate tastes better than the food from the actual serving dishes?" he inquired snidely.

Preserving a dignified silence, Hermione spread her toast with jam and began to eat it. Severus let her chew for several minutes before interposing, with wry self-deprecation, "Well, I had to see if I still have the intimidation factor working in my favour."

Hermione was saved the necessity of answering by the arrival of the morning post. The tawny barn owl dropped the _Daily Prophet_ by Severus's plate, while an elderly eagle owl settled by Hermione. The eagle owl had a missive on dark green parchment, written in silver ink. Intrigued, Hermione untied the unusual letter from the eagle owl's leg and offered him a piece of bacon from the serving dish. The owl accepted the slice of bacon and soared out the open kitchen window with it dangling from his cruel beak.

Hermione broke the silver wax seal on the letter and spread it open, checking first for the signature. "It's from your Great Aunt Seraphina," she said. "Why is she writing to me?"

Severus looked up from scanning the newspaper headlines. "Perhaps you'll tell me after you read her letter," he suggested.

Hermione's face drained of colour. "She's coming to pay a morning visit. Today!"

"And I have to go to work. Pity." Though his face was carefully deadpan, there was a certain malicious glee in his black eyes.

"You can't go off and leave me alone with your dreadful aunt!" she protested in horror.

The parchment drifted to the table top; Severus picked it up and read through it as he finished drinking his coffee. "She's bringing our wedding gift. I see nothing dreadful in that."

He stood, and Hermione launched herself at him, pressing her face into his chest. "She terrified me at the wedding," her muffled voice explained.

A softening expression stole across his features as one hand came up to smooth an errant curl. "She is a daunting old fright, Pet, but she was kind to me when I was a child. You will be gracious to her, I'm sure."

A resigned sigh floated up from the region below his chin. "Oh, all right. But you'll OWE me."

Severus peeled her clutching hands from his robes and gave her a somewhat taunting look. "I was previously unaware of these badger-like tendencies. You never mentioned the Sorting Hat considering you for Hufflepuff."

Hermione thrust herself away from him, incensed. "There's no need to be _insulting_ , Severus. I'm not afraid of your horrid old aunt."

Severus pinched her obstinately raised chin. "That's my girl," he said softly, his voice caressing. Then without further ado, he was gone, and Hermione was on her own in her new home for the first time since her marriage.

* * *

Hermione surveyed herself critically in the mirror. The bronze coloured robes were flattering to her complexion, her make up was neatly done, and her hair was cooperating with her. "This is my home. I am the witch of this house," she muttered to herself as she turned to leave the bedroom.

"Of course you are, dear," the mirror answered encouragingly.

Hermione went into the kitchen to look over the tea tray she had arranged and made one last circuit through the sitting room to make sure the tables were dust-free. The Sweet William and carnations she had cut from the garden and hastily arranged in a vase she had transfigured from a water glass lent the room a homey touch.

"I am a married woman. This is my home," she muttered to herself under her breath as she straightened the cushions on the sofa.

The bell rang, and she took a deep breath before walking to the door and opening it with the appearance of calm.

Seraphina Susannah Snape stood upon the doorstep in a forest green travelling cloak. An extremely ugly hat adorned with feathers sat upon her iron grey hair, and a huge black hand bag dangled from one scrawny forearm. On her aristocratic face was the patented Snape sneer, thin lips curled beneath the large hooked nose and imperious black eyes peculiar to her family. Hermione quelled the urge to curtsy, instead extending a hand in welcome.

"Please, come in. I'm so happy you could come to visit." Proper home training carried her through the beginning of her ordeal as the tiny, stooped figure swept past her into the entrance hall.

"I'm sure you're wishing me at the devil, my dear girl. You're well brought up; that's something. Where are we going to sit? I'm too old to be standing about in drafty hallways. I hope you mean to offer me tea."

Hermione hurried to show the old lady into the sitting room, ensconcing her in the most comfortable chair before excusing herself to fetch the tea tray. In the kitchen, she filled the tea pot with boiling water, murmuring a warming spell for the muffins.

"I am a married woman. This is my home," she reminded herself as she carried the tray into the sitting room and placed it on a table before the sofa. She seated herself, then offered a warm muffin to the formidable old lady across from her.

Great Aunt Seraphina waved the proffered muffin away from her. "Thank you, no. Just plain strong tea for me at this time of the day." She glanced Hermione up and down shrewdly before saying, "If I were you, young lady, I wouldn't indulge in cakes in the morning, else you'll be fat before you know it."

Hermione pressed her lips together to keep from uttering the retort on the tip of her tongue, simply handing a cup of tea to the old dragon. She then poured a cup of tea for herself and sat back to regard Great Aunt Seraphina with wide, innocent eyes, letting the silence stretch on between them. The mean old cow could give her the stupid wedding present and go away again; damn if she'd keep on setting herself up for snubs from Severus's aunt.

Great Aunt Seraphina drank her tea in majestic silence, unabashedly staring at the defiant young witch before her. When she had finished the tea, she set the cup on the table before her and opened her bag, removing an elegant cigarette holder, carved in jade, and a Muggle cigarette package. Without seeking permission, she fitted the fag into the holder, lit it with her wand, and inhaled the nicotine deeply into her lungs.

"Don't think I don't know you'd like to tell me off," she said in a reasonable voice, tapping ash into an unusual ashtray she had removed from the ugly handbag; the ashtray promptly caused the ashes to disappear. "I don't blame you. I would have wanted to do the same, at your age. Severus told me you were fit to be a Snape, Muggle-born or not. I had my doubts, but you handle yourself well. You'll do."

Hermione's lips were now but a thin line across her face as she restrained herself from hexing her husband's favourite family member. She was entirely unconscious of her near-perfect mimicry of Severus's best sneer as she inclined her head in acceptance of the old bag's grudging encomium.

Great Aunt Seraphina's sudden bark of laughter startled her. "You've even got the look of him, already. Good girl. You'll have to develop dragon hide if you're going to live with a Snape man." The old lady stubbed out her fag and the cigarette accoutrements disappeared into the hand bag again. "Come, come, child. Don't pout, it's not becoming."

Hermione found her mouth relaxing into a small smile. "What would you have me say, ma'am?"

"Tell me you love the boy and that you'll be a good wife. He's had a terrible life, that one."

"I love him with all my heart. I will work at being exactly the wife he wants and needs."

The old lady snorted. "Leave off worrying about the kind of wife he wants, and be the wife he deserves." She stood abruptly. "Will you show me about the house? I've never been to this place before; Severus inherited it from his mother's side of the family."

Hermione willingly showed her around the house, then returned to the sitting room and bore with equanimity the many strictures Great Aunt Seraphina voiced regarding the deficiencies of the old house. "All the rooms need painting and papering, the carpets need to be replaced, the draperies are faded and old fashioned, the chairs need to be recovered, and the nursery must be furnished."

Hermione gaped at her. "We don't need to have the nursery furnished."

Great Aunt Seraphina gave her a flat stare. "Don't be foolish. Of course you do. The Snape family must have an heir." Her eyes flicked down to Hermione's hips again. "Look at you. You're made for it."

Hermione's chin came up a fraction. "Severus and I have no immediate plans to begin our family, ma'am."

The old woman shrugged. "Whether sooner or later, you will need to have the nursery furnished. You may as well be prepared." From the ugly hand bag, she removed a list scrawled on a piece of parchment. "You will also, of course, need household help."

"Oh, no, ma'am, we won't be making our home here at present. We'll be residing most of the year at Hogwarts."

Great Aunt Seraphina wagged a finger at her. "Mark my words, child, you'll be glad of a place to retreat to, once you get settled at that inconvenient old castle. You'll get this house fit for a family to live in, so that when the children come, you'll have a home for them. You'll see."

The older witch scratched a note to herself on the list in her hand, muttering about upholstering. Hermione felt as if she were being swept along in the wake of a steam engine. "We don't plan to invest on redecorating at present – perhaps when I begin working ..."

Great Aunt Seraphina glanced up at her, surprise on her heavily lined face. "Didn't I tell you I was bringing a wedding gift?" she demanded in some exasperation.

At that moment, the door bell chimed again. Hermione jumped at the unaccustomed sound; who in the world would be calling on her now? She stood to go to the door, only to have Great Aunt Seraphina bustle out of the sitting room ahead of her.

"That will be them now," she said with satisfaction as she passed Hermione.

"Who?" Hermione asked blankly as the stooped figure wrenched the door open.

The sight of the visitors on the doorstep caused her a moment of disorientation, as well as incipient panic. Standing before her, casting one another looks of mistrust and loathing, were a house-elf and her former Professor, Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Your household help and your interior decorator, girl, aren't you attending to me at all?" the old lady demanded peevishly.

* * *

Severus walked into his rooms for the first time in a month with a feeling of homecoming. The door had scarcely closed behind him before Bast leapt onto the bookcase by the door. From her perch, nearly on eye level with him, she surveyed him with wounded disdain.

A smile tugged at Severus's mouth. "Is there nowhere I can go without being plagued by feminine distempered freaks?" he demanded, holding one long-fingered hand out to the elegant little black Siamese cat. Bast delicately sniffed his fingers before rubbing the side of her face against his hand. When he obligingly scratched behind her ear, she relented and stepped onto his shoulder, her claws gripping his robes, and butted his face with her head.

That reunion attended to, Severus moved into his study, where he found the lesson plans for the coming term neatly filed in a drawer. He busied himself double-checking the list of ingredients for the classroom store cupboard and was soon lost in the familiar tasks he had performed over and again for twenty years. Bast demanded access to his lap, which he granted her, and two hours were comfortably filled with the purring of the cat and the scratching of the quill on parchment.

The rumbling of his stomach alerted him to the time. For a moment he considered scrounging in the tiny kitchen for something for lunch, then condemned the impulse as cowardly. His first post-nuptial meeting with the staff had to occur sometime; better sooner than later. Squaring his shoulders, Severus strode through the dungeons to the steps leading up to the Great Hall.

His entrance caused no small stir; the entire teaching staff stood to greet him, an unprecedented event, and his hand was shaken by every single one of them, until he reached Albus Dumbledore, who seated Severus between himself and Remus Lupin.

Lupin gave him a lop-sided grin. "How does it feel to return as the conquering hero?"

Severus paused in the act of pouring water into a goblet. "Do you know, I believe that I received less attention when I was awarded the Order of Merlin than I did after marrying Hermione Granger?"

Lupin, who was swallowing a mouthful of pumpkin juice, inhaled it instead. Minerva McGonagall patted Lupin helpfully on the back as Severus went back to eating his lunch as if Lupin were not choking in his ear. When he recovered his breath, Lupin rasped, "It would be ungentlemanly of me to draw the inevitable comparison between risking one's life for one's country and marrying Hermione."

The rest of teachers were then treated to the novel sight of Severus Snape indulging in an unrestrained laugh with a co-worker, which ended only when Remus Lupin pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his streaming face. Albus caught Minerva's eye over the heads of the two men – boys again, in this moment – and they exchanged very pleased, rather self-satisfied, smiles.

* * *

Replete from his meal and triumphant from his first encounter with the staff, Severus took his ingredients list and entered the storeroom, checking off each ingredient and making a note of the amounts needed. As he moved from shelf to shelf, he had a nagging feeling, as of some task left undone. He pushed on with his inventory, for several more minutes, until it dawned on him.

He was missing Hermione. He wanted to share with her, to tell her about lunch and how the other professors had behaved, and what Remus had said, and how Bast had received him ... Severus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wanted to Floo his wife, and if they had not deliberately blocked the Floo at Enchanté, he would stop right now and talk to her. He had been absent from her for all of five hours, and he wanted nothing so much as to see her beloved face and speak to her. Had he actually thought that marrying her would be the end of it, that he would stop viewing his predilection for her society as a weakness? What kind of man could not make it through one workday without wanting to talk to his wife?

With a chuckle, he went back to marking his list, reflecting to himself that he would be home in time to eat supper with her.

* * *

Hermione watched in horror as the unknown house-elf and the former Professor Lockhart were welcomed into her home by her husband's terrifying great aunt.

"Hermione, this is Gilderoy Lockhart, a well-known interior designer. He did the redecoration for my friend Cordelia Malfoy's London townhouse." Hermione held out her hand wordlessly, feeling as if she were taking part in some sort of farce. "Gilderoy, this is my great nephew's bride, Hermione Snape." Lockhart gave Hermione a glittering smile and bowed over her hand in the grand manner.

Gilderoy Lockhart had spent six years on the locked ward at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, suffering from an Obliviate Spell which had backfired and hit him rather than his intended victims, Ron and Harry. The general consensus among the law enforcement community had been that his own personality disintegration had been enough punishment, and no action was ever taken against him for his attempt to obliterate Ron's and Harry's memories. To everyone's surprise, after five years of hospitalization, a new treatment, based largely on Muggle psychiatric technique, had helped Lockhart regain a large part of his personality. His memories of his former life would never be recovered, but he remembered enough about how to be a functioning adult wizard that he was judged to be well enough to leave hospital. Within six months, he had a new career, in interior design and party planning. He had also published two new books.

Oddly enough, Lockhart's appearance had scarcely changed in the nine years since Hermione had endured a painful schoolgirl crush on him when he was her second-year Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. His golden hair was carefully coiffed, his forget-me-not-blue eyes sparkled, and his toothy smile was blindingly white. His lavender robes were carefully colour-coordinated with the bag he carried, which appeared to contain paint chips and fabric samples – and to be otherwise stuffed to the bursting point with copies of his books and signed photographs. Hermione simply nodded to him politely; she dared not think of what Severus would say to the idea of Gilderoy Lockhart in their home at all, much less with some bizarre carte blanche to decorate it.

"Gilderoy," Great Aunt Seraphina said, "I would like for you to begin in the nursery, upstairs – you'll find the room at the top of the stairs, on the left. I will join you directly."

"Of course, dear lady," Lockhart said, smiling engagingly at both witches, before bounding up to the first floor.

The old woman transferred her attention to the silent house-elf, who waited patiently before her, his eyes averted. "Elf, please come with me into the sitting room," she said and went back to the chair where she had been sitting earlier. The house-elf followed at a respectful distance, stopping before Great Aunt Seraphina's chair and standing once again with eyes averted deferentially.

Hermione followed the elf. Did the old lady mean to leave the elf there to give the house a thorough cleaning?

"Come here, child," Great Aunt Seraphina said to Hermione, stretching out an imperious hand. Hermione went to her.

"Hermione, this is Quirk. He is a house-elf, who has been trained in my home, by my own house-elves, and I am giving him to you and Severus as a wedding gift, to be bound to this home and to your family."

To her dismay and amazement, Quirk was bowing to her now, murmuring, "Quirk is honoured to meet Mistress."

"But ma'am!" Hermione said desperately. "This is too much – you cannot..."

"Pish!" exclaimed Great Aunt Seraphina. "I can, and I have."

Hermione flashed back to S.P.E.W., and to all she had done – well, all she had wanted to do – for the house-elves, how ever little they wished for her to "help" them. The very idea of owning another sentient being was repugnant to her. And now, here at her feet, the little creature was waiting to be greeted – to be accepted.

Without warning, her mantra of the morning floated into her mind: I am the witch of this house; this is my home.

It became a simple question, then: What would Severus have her do?

She had been born graced with the magic that flowed through her body; the wizarding community had reached out to her, in the letter that invited her to Hogwarts, and she had made the decision to embrace that world and to live within its confines and its culture. House-elves were as much a part of the world she had adopted as the goblins who ran Gringotts Bank and the centaurs that roamed the Forbidden Forest. It was not up to her to pick and choose amongst the components of the wizarding world and to decide what she would and would not allow. It was, however, up to her to honour her husband and the name he had bestowed upon her.

Hermione became aware that the autocratic old witch was watching her with a calculating air, while the poor little house-elf was still in his deep bow. She cleared her throat and said, "Welcome to Enchanté, Quirk. Professor Snape and I will be honoured to accept your service."

She had no idea from whence the words had come, but apparently they were the correct ones; the house-elf rose from his bow with a pleased flush in his cheeks, and Great Aunt Seraphina rewarded her with an approving nod.

The old lady rose from her chair, saying, "I will leave you to begin instructing Quirk as to his duties, Hermione; Gilderoy is waiting for me above stairs. He and I will chat about the renovations before I go, and then you can have a nice long discussion with him about how you wish to proceed." She firmly propelled Hermione into the vacated seat before Quirk and hurried out of the room.

Hermione found herself alone in the room with Quirk, who regarded her deferentially, though with some obvious curiosity. As she looked at his bat-like ears and his huge green eyes, she was reminded forcefully of Dobby, who now was the paid house-elf in the employ of Harry Potter at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. For a moment, she wondered what it must be like to be taken from your home and thrust into a brand new environment as the property of people about whom you knew nothing.

"Right," she said. "Quirk, I want you to know that I have never lived in a home with a house-elf before, and I will depend upon you to let me know what your duties were at your last home." Quirk watched her with anxious eyes, nodding at her words as if he wished to carve them into his brain. "Professor Snape and I were just married a month ago, so being a married lady is still new to me, and I have much to learn about making a home. Do you think you can help me?"

Nothing could have been more apt to endear her to the creature before her. "Quirk will help Mistress make a nice home for the Master-Professor," he proclaimed in his squeaky voice.

"Did Madame Seraphina Snape tell you anything about Professor Snape and me?" Hermione asked him.

Quirk recited, as if repeating a lesson well learned, "Master and Mistress were heroes in the war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Master is the Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Mistress is the best friend of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Quirk is very, very lucky to serve in the home of such famous and honoured wizards and witches." And the house-elf bowed again, his long nose nearly brushing the carpet.

"Yes, well, Quirk, you should know that Master is quite particular about his personal belongings. It is very, very important for you not to move any of Master's things from where he has placed them without his permission. Do you understand?"

Quirk nodded to her, his large eyes wide with fear at the concept of a wrathful master. Hermione smiled at him, which was apparently a novel experience for the house-elf, because he nervously looked over his shoulder, as if to see at whom she might be smiling.

"That's all for now, Quirk. Why don't you look around the house and get familiar with it, then later on we can decide what to prepare for dinner, okay?"

As the house-elf exited the room in great excitement, to survey his new domain, Hermione took a deep breath and began to climb the stairs to meet her next challenge of the day – how to curb the combined creative energies of Great Aunt Seraphina and Gilderoy Lockhart.

* * *

Severus Apparated into the foyer at Enchanté and was delighted to find his bride waiting to welcome him. He took a moment to appreciate how pretty she looked, in the bronze robes, with her curls falling about her face and down her back. Then she flung herself at him, laughing and hugging and saying how much she had missed him all the long, long day. Her impetuous demonstrations of affection, as much an anything else, had helped to break down the physical barriers he had erected and used all his life to keep people away from him. Hermione simply ignored his carefully constructed defences, sure of her welcome into his arms. As a tool of positive reinforcement, he bent his head to capture her lips in a time-stopping kiss.

When he lifted his face from hers, prepared to say something charmingly wicked, he was shocked to find huge green eyes peering at him from half-way up the staircase. With a startled oath, he shoved Hermione behind him and reached for his wand.

Her cry of, "No! Severus!" coincided with the creature, whom he now recognized as a house-elf, throwing itself face-down at his feet, moaning and wailing its apologies for upsetting him.

"What the _hell_ is that?" he demanded angrily, nudging the heap of house-elf with the toe of his boot.

"HE is our gift from your Great Aunt Seraphina," Hermione retorted, pushing Severus away and crouching protectively over the house-elf, one hand upon its quivering back.

"Oh, Merlin's bloody BEARD," Severus swore, throwing his hands up in his best Slytherin Drama Queen fashion. "What next?"

Hermione, however, was ignoring him. Instead, she was addressing the house-elf, whom she had assisted to stand, and to whom she was speaking in a kind, calming voice. "I beg your pardon, Quirk; I guess I forgot a very important rule. Master used to be a spy and he is very much on his guard at all times. Never, ever, creep up on Master. Always approach him from the front or speak to him so that he knows you are there. All right?"

The house-elf, obviously traumatized, nodded feverishly. Hermione, glaring at Severus in a warning fashion, said, "Severus, I would like for you to meet Quirk. Your great aunt has given him to us, to be the house-elf at Enchanté, as our wedding gift." Then she spoke again to the house-elf. "Quirk, this is your Master, Professor Snape."

Severus watched in morbid fascination as the house-elf bowed to him, saying in its shaking, squeaky voice, "Quirk is honoured to meet his Master."

Severus turned his fulminating gaze on his wife, who gave him a tight-lipped nod in the house-elf's direction.

Bugger.

Straightening himself up, Severus looked down at the tiny magical creature in front of him, reflecting that the obligations of marriage simply continued to mount. "Welcome to the Snape home, Quirk. I am honoured to accept your service."

He was rewarded with a warm, loving smile from Hermione as well as the wet-faced sniffles of the house-elf. Ah, there was nothing like the uncomplicated comforts of home, after a long day at work.

Bugger.

* * *

After they dined, Severus and Hermione retired to the sitting room, where she curled up in the circle of his arm and told him the story of her visit from his great aunt. She had carefully considered how she would excuse to Severus the presence of the despised Lockhart in his home. She had come to the conclusion that she would simply present the redecoration to him as a fait accompli, and perhaps relate, at some future date, the author of the decorating changes as a good joke. She would have Lockhart redecorate the rooms they never used first, doing the sitting room and master bedroom last, so that it would all be finished before Severus knew it had begun. She had only been married for a little while, but it was long enough to realize that as long as neither his books, his clothes, nor his wand were disturbed, Severus Snape would be unlikely to notice if the colour of the walls or the fabric of the armchairs changed.

In return, Severus related the story of his reunion with Bast, the receiving line of professors at lunch, and the joke he had shared with Remus. As he spoke, she gazed at his face, stroking his raven's-wing hair, shot through with strands of silver. When he reached the end of his story, he cocked his head to one side, looking down at her, the arm circling her shoulders tightening to pull her closer.

"What are you looking at?" he asked lazily, letting his own gaze wander down to appreciate the small bit of cleavage revealed by the v-neck of the robes and the swell beneath.

"I'm looking at my gorgeous husband," she replied huskily, leaning into him and pressing her breasts to his chest as her small teeth grazed the sharp angle of his jaw.

Severus had long ceased to argue with her or question her pronouncements regarding his physical attractiveness. He supposed it was possible, in one's forties, to outgrow a lifetime of ugliness, but it was really a moot point. If his wife believed him to be gorgeous, it was his duty to indulge her in this delusion. The results were, after all, favourable from his point of view, and if she were, in years to come, to outgrow this misapprehension, he could depend upon her love and loyalty to keep her by his side.

Hungrily, he pulled her into his lap, burying one hand in the hair at the very back of her head, just as she liked, and pulling her head slightly back, to lay a trail of kisses down her throat. She squirmed, her bottom provocatively surfing the swells of his emerging interest, and spoke his name in a breathy gasp. The Enchantment answered the call of their surging passion, pulling them beneath the wave of power, and they clung together, their hearts synchronizing and beating as one, ecstatic to be in its thrall once again.

Congratulating himself on having the foresight not to ward against Apparation within his home, Severus clasped his prize firmly against him and Apparated straight to their bed.

* * *

Severus was completely bemused, the next morning, to find that not only was Hermione not sulking about his going to work that day, but she was practically shoving him out the door. Since classes had not yet begun, he did not have to arrive at his office by a specific time, and because she had been a demanding little vixen the night before, he thought he might have a bit of lie-in – but, no! She cheerfully prodded him out of bed, into the shower, and lured him down to the kitchen with promises of kippers for breakfast, before he was properly awake.

Glaring at her suspiciously over his third cup of coffee (say what you will about the little berks, but house-elves made damn good coffee), he wondered what she was up to. He was distracted from his musings by the arrival of the owl post.

While Severus glanced idly through the _Daily Prophet_ , Hermione broke the seal on the official looking letter she had received. Her squeal a moment later caused Severus to look up sharply, and it brought Quirk running as if the hounds of hell were on his tail.

"Yes, Mistress?" Quirk asked nervously, no doubt wondering how long it would take him to begin to understand how his new master and mistress communicated with him.

Hermione ignored him, saying excitedly to Severus, "It's from the Ministry of Magic! The Office of Experimental Magical Solutions! Listen to this:

_Dear Madame Snape,_

Pursuant to our receipt of the copy of your treatise,

_**The Uses of Experimental Potions in the Treatment of Trauma-Induced Injury to the Nerves, Muscles, and Tissues** _ _, we would like to speak with you regarding a current opening on our Research Staff. This position requires the desire to pursue self-directed independent research in your own lab, to be funded by this office, under the supervision of the OEMS Head._

If you would be interested in discussing this possibility with us, please let us know by return owl if you are available to meet with us on Wednesday, 22nd August, at 11 A.M.

Sincerely yours,

Percy I. Weasley  
Assistant Head  
Office of Experimental Magical Solutions  
Ministry of Magic  
London

Severus kept his features carefully schooled to polite interest. "I take it you find the offer of interest?" he inquired neutrally.

"Yes!" Hermione answered excitedly. "Self-directed independent research? Severus, they want to pay me to devise and run my own experiments in my own lab! Can you imagine?"

"That would make you happy?"

She was up out of her chair, dancing around the table to deliver a hug, which he stood to receive properly.

"Yes, yes, yes! Oh, I have to send an owl immediately!" She whirled around, relieved to see that the Ministry owl was still there, munching on the Owl Treat thoughtfully provided to it by Quirk. "Have a wonderful day at work!" she said to him, rushing out of the kitchen in search of parchment and a quill.

"Thanks for the good-bye kiss," he muttered grumpily, looking at the spot from which his bride had just disappeared. He noted, with a great deal of amusement, the alarm on Quirk's face as he regarded his master fearfully. "Don't worry, Quirk; kissing me good-bye in the mornings will never form any part of your duties."

And with that bit of reassurance, he collected his brief case and Apparated to work, wondering how long it would take his Hermione to wonder just _who_ had sent a copy of her course thesis to the Ministry of Magic.

* * *

Hermione tied her acceptance of the invitation to come in and speak with the Office of Experimental Magical Solutions to the extended leg of the Ministry owl and sent it on its way. Leaving Quirk to deal with the breakfast washing up, she went into the sitting room and sat down on the sofa to await Lockhart. It had been a near-run thing, getting Severus moving this morning so that he would be gone before Lockhart showed up. If she did not manage to keep them apart while the redecorating was underway, she did not want to imagine the results.

Lockhart had managed to get up the nose of every professor on the staff at Hogwarts during his short tenure as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. It was bad enough that they all recognized him as a complete fraud, without him constantly being on about every subject under the sun. He had had the unmitigated gall to lecture Hagrid about the care of magical creatures, Sprout about the care of magical plants, McGonagall about the proper way to teach Transfiguration – he had even tried to best Severus in a duel before the entire student body! No, Lockhart had not endeared himself to anyone during his time at Hogwarts – and Severus simply did _not_ suffer fools gladly. He was forced to deal with the "dunderheads" in his classes; he would not willingly do so on his own time – much less in his own home.

Hermione was not fond of Lockhart herself. She had not really forgiven him for trying to Obliviate Harry and Ron in the Chamber of Secrets, and she felt he had gotten exactly what he deserved. She had felt pity for him when she saw him at St. Mungo's, but that didn't mean she wanted him running tame in her house. She did not, however, know how to refuse Great Aunt Seraphina's gift. She certainly did not wish to offend the old lady. And it would be nice to have the old house made new inside.

With the eternal optimism of youth, she decided it would all work out in the end.

* * *

A/N: The name of this story comes from a song of the same title by the immortal John Lennon.


	13. Chapter 13

Master of Enchantment

Book 3

Nobody Told Me There'd Be Days Like These

ii: Having One's Cake

Hermione glanced one last time at her reflection. Her hair had been tamed into a professional-looking chignon and her navy blue robes gave just the right touch of career-minded witch. Her make up was neat, not at all overdone. Her leather briefcase carried her curriculum vitae and copies of her thesis papers for her projects in Charms and Potions. She presented the perfect picture of a qualified job candidate.

A sudden lurch in her tummy sent her flying once again to the bathroom. She retched for a moment over the toilet, before standing to rinse her mouth and brush her teeth for the third time that morning. Doubtlessly her stomach was empty now, and the nervous fluttering and distressing churning would cease.

For the briefest moment, she stood with her forehead pressed to the mirror over the sink. She had not entered the halls of the Ministry of Magic since she was carried out of it on a stretcher, after the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. On that fateful day, Antonin Dolohov cast a curse at her which knocked her unconscious and kept her chained to a bed in the hospital wing at Hogwarts for longer than she cared to remember. Though she never spoke of that time, she still had nightmares about it. Considering the horrible experiences that had troubled Harry, Ron, and Severus, she had never felt that her own physical maladies had been of much significance, in the larger scheme of things.

Moving resolutely back into her bedroom, she picked up her briefcase. She wanted this job; it was a perfect position for her. She could work from home, whether at Hogwarts or Enchanté, designing and conducting her own experiments. All she had to do was show up for an interview at the Ministry. She had been able to stand her own ground in duels with armed Death Eaters – surely she could survive an interview with Percy Weasley?

Squaring her shoulders, Hermione walked out of her bedroom and marched down the stairs.

* * *

Quirk, the house-elf, finished with the washing up and began his daily patrol of his domain. He was so proud to be bound to his own family and to his own home; at Enchanté, he was not under the direction of an elf senior to him, as he had been in the house of Madam Seraphina Snape. No, at Enchanté, Quirk was in charge of the entire house and the whole family. He felt the weight of responsibility keenly and wanted nothing so much as to give satisfaction to his new master and mistress and to be worthy of his position.

After making all tidy in his master's bedroom and bathroom, he ventured into the room at the top of the stairs. What he saw there filled his elf soul with terror.

Quirk had, thus far, found his new mistress to be very kind and patient. She had only given Quirk one absolute rule, which he considered to be his Prime Directive: Never, under any circumstances, was he to move Master Snape's personal belongings without permission. Master was particular about his things; Quirk was to leave them exactly as he found them.

Mistress seemed to understand some important things about Quirk and his job. On his very first day at Enchanté, she had given him leave to look all over the house and acquaint himself with the rooms. He had eagerly embraced this suggestion, prowling every nook and cranny, every shelf and cupboard, from the cellar to the attics, and memorizing the location of every piece of furniture and every knick-knack. He knew which rooms needed a thorough dusting, which windows needed washing, and which old drawers and trunks needed to be tidied – he was careful, and observant, and he was a _good_ house-elf!

But something terrible had happened to the room at the top of the stairs.

The old ragged wallpaper, which featured faded red cabbage roses, was gone! The walls, which had been a dingy white, were now butter yellow, and some horrid paper featuring little cavorting woodland creatures mocked him from the far wall. The dilapidated red floor runner he remembered had been replaced with a tidy hooked rug in shades of saffron.

Oh, Quirk was a bad elf!

Firmly grasping the doorframe, Quirk smacked his head against the offending yellow wall.

The sharp pain brought him back to a sense of his immediate obligations. With a frown of concentration, he pictured the room as he had seen it on his first day. When he had every detail firmly fixed in his mind, he snapped his fingers, then peeked with hopeful eyes. Relief flooded his small body. Once again, the walls were a dingy white, with the torn cabbage rose paper on the far wall and the tatty old floor runner beneath his feet.

Quirk staggered out of the room at the top of the stairs, shuddering with delayed reaction as he pictured Master Snape in a rageful snit over the ruination of this room. Leaning against the wall in the hallway, he caught his breath and thanked his good luck that he had thought to inspect the house this morning. What if the changes had been discovered? It did not bear thinking about.

His breathing returned to normal, Quirk continued down the upstairs hallway to the small unused bedrooms and caused the bedroom doors to pop open at his approach. His cry of outrage at the sight of the bedrooms could be heard from the front walk.

* * *

Severus strode up the drive from the gates of Hogwarts to the castle entrance, a scowl of concentration on his face. Hermione had seemed quite distracted at breakfast this morning, picking at her food and answering him at random when he spoke to her. Used as he was to being the focus of her attention when in her presence, he was slightly miffed by her behaviour.

A flurry of activity by the castle doors distracted him from his brooding. Several wizards and witches, most of whom he did not recognize, were loitering about the entrance, chatting with one another. Each of the strangers was wearing a name tag, bearing the words, _Hello, My Name Is_ with handwritten names then scrawled on the badges; the inscribed pieces of paper appeared to have adhered to the robes of the persons wearing them.

Offended by the absurd name tags, he realized he had seen them somewhere before. Had not Hermione pointed them out to him at some point? Oh, yes – she had suggested that the ridiculous Muggle name tags be used during the registration process for the 157th Annual Wizarding Education Symposium. Hiring Hermione to assist him in organizing the symposium had been Dumbledore's interfering way of throwing them into each other's company; when they had allowed the Enchantment to have its way with them and rushed into a wedding and a long honeymoon, Dumbledore and McGonagall had been stuck with the job of finishing the plans for the event. Yes, today was indeed 22nd August – how could he have forgotten? The whole bloody castle would be overrun with strangers.

Abruptly changing direction, Severus headed for the courtyard and an alternate entrance to the castle; damned if he would socialize with a bunch of dunderheads if he could avoid it.

* * *

Gilderoy Lockhart sat quietly in the sitting room at Enchanté, answering a few pieces of fan mail before beginning his day's work. That young Madam Snape had ushered him into the house on her way out to some sort of appointment in London. She assured him he would be quite alone this morning, save for the house-elf; no one would be the wiser if he stole some time to sign a few photographs for his many fans.

So far, this job was going quite well. The elderly witch who hired him had paid up front, and paid quite generously, to have this small house redecorated in the finest style. She was, no doubt, dazzled by his smile and his blinding personality. The younger witch, however, who seemed vaguely familiar to him, behaved as if she were uncomfortable around him. Perhaps she was also enchanted by his good looks and felt badly about it; as Gilderoy had been informed, the young woman had been married for only a short time. Possibly she was feeling a twinge of guilt over preferring him to her new husband. Yes, that would explain everything.

The mirror hanging over the mantle lured him, as did all mirrors, everywhere, to stand before it and gaze upon the perfection that was Gilderoy. He tried a few different smiles, practiced a number of expressions of modesty, then found his attention drawn by movement on the mantelpiece. Tearing his eyes away from his own arresting countenance, Gilderoy saw a glass jar, filled with leaves and twigs, with a beetle scurrying about within; the bug actually fluttered its wings and bumped against the side of the jar, as if to attract his notice.

Gilderoy stared at the insect with some fascination. It was a curious specimen, with the oddest markings about its eyes. He had never considered it before, but undoubtedly even insects could feel the magnetism of his personality and would be drawn to him. Bestowing a kindly smile upon the bug, he went to gather his things to move to the nursery and see to the polishing of the wainscoting. There was much to be done in this house; if these strange Snapes thought that bottled beetles were appropriate ornaments for their mantelpiece, his work was cut out for him.

Retrieving his work bag, which he charmed each day to match his robes (today he was all in aquamarine), he bounded eagerly up to the nursery. What he saw when he opened the door caused him to stagger back in confusion.

Gone were the cheerful yellow walls, the carefully chosen wallpaper, and the simple, though expensive, hooked rug. Instead, the horrid room was as it had been the first day he had seen it, with tattered wallpaper, dreary walls, and seedy carpeting.

Leaving his bag where it had fallen from his enfeebled fingers, he staggered down the hall to the other two rooms he had already refurbished. With his hastily drawn wand, he popped both doors open, then stood looking from one room to the other, his jaw slack and his mouth hanging open in a most unattractive gawp.

His brain abuzz with perturbation, he slid down the wall and sat on the floor, staring at his well-manicured hands. He remembered distinctly viewing these three rooms and discussing them first with the old lady, then with the lady of the house. He had made notes, which he diligently followed the next afternoon when he returned and magicked the new paint onto the walls, added the wallpaper, and replaced the floor coverings. Using his wand, he Summoned his bag and pulled out his notes, seeing where he had checked off the tasks as completed.

Why was there no evidence of him having made any changes to these rooms?

Gilderoy had spent many years in hospital for not remembering who he was or how to get on in life as an independent person. Once the new techniques had begun to restore some sense of self to him, he had hungered to leave the closed ward and grace society with himself again. He had been told that he had done some dreadful things, by some angry people who had confronted him once he left hospital; he had no memory of doing any of those things, however. He had been shown the books he had written, falsely claiming responsibility for feats actually performed by other people; other than admiring his own photographs on the covers, Gilderoy had never paid the least mind to those books from his former life. Instead, he embraced his new life, quickly finding a place for himself where his natural interests could flourish, in party planning and decorating. He adored his existence, his celebrity, and could not bear to think that anything could interfere with his hedonistic pursuits.

A cold trickle of fear insinuated itself into Gilderoy's mind. What if the hospital people found out he was imagining things? What if his benign gaolers knew that he had distinct memories of doing things that had clearly never been done – like decorating the Snape's nursery? Why, they would probably haul him off to the closed ward again. He would be locked up and would not be allowed to plan parties, or to attend them, with adoring witches fawning over him for his handsome face and his boyish charm. It was unthinkable! He could not permit it to be discovered!

* * *

Feeling a bit like a cat on a hot sidewalk, Hermione paced back and forth before the old red telephone box, gathering her courage about her like Harry's invisibility cloak. Lifting her chin determinedly, she stepped into the box, lifted the receiver and dialled six-two-four-four-two. She stated her business, then took the square silver badge from the coin chute and fastened it to her robes. It read, _Hermione Snape, Job Interview_. The floor of the telephone box then began to descend underground, into the bowels of the Ministry of Magic.

Stepping onto the dark wood floor of the Atrium, she was astounded to see that the Fountain of Magical Brethren, which had been demolished in the duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort, was spraying jets of water into the air as if it had never been reduced to rubble. She realized that five years had passed since that horrible day, but it was amazing to her that no sign of physical scars from the epic battle remained; it was as if it had never happened. If only she could forget as easily.

After submitting her wand for inspection at the security desk, Hermione moved to the lifts. She knew that the office she wanted was on level three. The nervous churning had begun once again in her stomach; for some reason, she was acutely aware of being deep under the streets of London, and there was a sensation of a great weight pressing on her, keeping her from taking a good, deep breath. Mentally chastising herself for her cowardice, she stepped into the lift. It was not until the doors slid closed, leaving her trapped in the tiny, moving box, with lavender paper airplane memos flapping about above her head, that the most acute panic assailed her.

Able to breathe only in tiny gasps, with her racing heart thundering in her ears and a fine film of perspiration across her brow, Hermione closed her eyes; in her distress, her only thought was of Severus.

* * *

With the most recent O.W.L. results spread on the desk before him, Severus retrieved his sixth- and seventh-year lesson plans from his brief case and struggled to keep his mind on his work. It really never failed to amaze him that so many of the students who could not properly brew the simplest potion in his classroom managed to waltz out of the practical portion of the Potions O.W.L. with marks ranging from improbable A's (acceptable), to impossible E's (exceeds expectations), to impertinent O's (outstanding). He had taught damn few students in his career who were actually fit to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making. One notable exception had been his own Hermione...

Severus allowed himself a few moments of leisure time to dwell upon his bride, calling to mind in particular her enthusiastic response to his lovemaking the night before. How had he ever been so lucky as to win a woman as desirable as Hermione?

Bast leapt onto the desk top, landing neatly in the middle of the O.W.L. scores.

"Get down from there," he commanded sternly. "You know you are not permitted on top of my desk."

Staying on her feet, Bast meowed at him plaintively, the tip of her tail flicking in agitation.

Severus frowned at her; the cat was usually quite well behaved. What the devil was ailing her? As he watched her, perplexed, Bast continued to speak to him woefully, each successive cry seeming more urgent. He reached one hand out to stroke her, to still her furor. She pressed into his touch, but continued to clamour. Oddly, as his hand caressed her sleek black fur, he found his mind to be full of Hermione – her thoughts and her feelings seemed to invade his mind. He stared at Bast, who looked him fearlessly in the eye, her own cries quieting as distressing Hermione-flavoured emotions saturated him.

Severus snatched his hand back from the cat as if he had been burned; the image of an anguished Hermione stayed with him. With jerky steps, he crossed the room, as if to flee the persistent picture in his mind. From the doorway, he looked back at Bast, who stood on the desk top, watching him.

"Is it true? Does she need me?" he said aloud, as if to himself.

Bast had only to meow her affirmation once before he rushed from his rooms, the black robes billowing in his wake.

* * *

Struggling to get a calm breath, Hermione clutched at her briefcase and waited for the interminable lift trip between floors to reach an end. Sweet relief flooded her when the lift doors opened on the fourth level; she stumbled out of the horrid lift right into the arms of Nymphadora Tonks.

"Hermione!" Tonks grasped her friend by the arms, gazing with some alarm at her pale, sweaty face. "What's wrong? Why are you here?"

"Ladies' Room!" Hermione gasped. With great presence of mind, Tonks took her by the hand and whisked her around a corner and through a door into the nearest bathroom; Hermione hastened into one of the stalls and retched yet again into the toilet.

When Hermione emerged, Tonks had conjured two comfortable chairs in the lounge antechamber; she was holding a damp face flannel, which she used to carefully wipe her friend's face.

"Are you ill?" she asked.

"Just a bit of an anxiety attack, I think," Hermione said in a failing voice, falling into one of the squishy armchairs. "First time I've been back here since the battle in the Department of Mysteries, five years ago."

Tonks, who had also been injured in that battle, nodded in understanding as she settled in the chair across from Hermione. "I was in St. Mungo's for weeks. When I was well enough to come back to work, I would get all shaky every time I had to enter the building." A soft, reminiscent smile lit Tonks's heart-shaped face. "Remus was brilliant, at the time. He had these Muggle books about some kind of stress disorder. He would sit with me over a pint for hours at a time, talking about how natural it was for me to be nervous about coming into the building again."

Hermione took the flannel and pressed the cool cloth against her throat. As Tonks talked, she felt her panic subsiding; her breathing returned to normal, and her heart beat steadied. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the soft chair.

Tonks watched her carefully, prattling on about inconsequential things. "You never did say why you're here," she commented at last.

Hermione made an effort to sit up straight, opening the side zip on her briefcase and removed a small cosmetics bag. "I have an appointment for an interview on level three in ten minutes!" She began to repair the damage to her make up.

"What, the Obliviator Headquarters?" Tonks inquired with interest.

"No, the Office of Experimental Magical Solutions." She frowned for a moment, snapping her cosmetics bag closed and tucking it away. "Isn't your office on level two? Why are you here?"

Tonks shrugged. "I just had a look-in at the Werewolf Support Services." Her eyes crinkled in her engaging smile. "Are we still on for Friday night?"

Hermione smiled. "Absolutely. Our first guests!" She rose quickly. "I'd better hurry. Are there stairs I can take, instead of the lift?"

Tonks tucked Hermione's hand in her arm and led her to the stairs, beginning the trip up with her. "One floor up, then turn right. Will you be okay alone?"

Hermione gave Tonks a one-armed hug. "I'm fine. Thank you, 'Dora. You saved my life!"

Tonks made a moue and rolled her eyes. "Good luck! I'll see you Friday!" Then she turned and continued up to the next level.

Straightening her back, Hermione turned right and walked down to the door proclaiming Office of Experimental Magical Solutions. Stepping into the office, she found a harassed-looking young man with fiery red hair labouring over a pile of parchments. He looked up at her entrance, and Hermione had no difficulty recognizing Percy Weasley.

Percy, the third Weasley son, had risen quickly in the Ministry at the beginning of his career, by aping the opinions of his immediate superiors. This tactic had worked well for him, until he broke with his family and openly declared that Voldemort had not returned, and that Harry Potter was a lying, attention-seeking head case. When this declaration turned out to be wrong, he began to be shunted from one office within the Ministry to another, never rising and never staying in any position for very long. It was discovered that Percy was an excellent workhorse, but that his people skills left a bit to be desired.

Hermione had felt quite a bit of sympathy for Percy while he was still a student at Hogwarts; his desire to be at the top of his class and to follow the rules were goals with which she could identify. It was not until he left school and displayed his inglorious arse to one and all that she began to dislike him. Even though he had reconciled with his mother and was on speaking terms with his father, his siblings continued to treat him with distrust and disdain. She found herself stiffening as Percy stepped forward with his hand outstretched, saying, "Hermione!"

The imperious lift of her eyebrows would have made any Snape proud. "Mr. Weasley," she answered him, nodding her head and ignoring his hand.

Percy stood doubtfully surveying the haughty young woman before him – she reminded him of someone, he just couldn't put his finger on who it was. He couldn't see why she had to be so unfriendly, but he had best treat her respectfully; the office Head wanted this witch for the research staff, and there would be hell to pay if Percy made any mistakes in this recruitment.

"The Head is right through here," he told her, stepping to the open doorway behind his desk. Hermione could see a larger desk against the wall in this second room but there did not appear to be anyone sitting there.

Percy rapped on the doorframe, saying, "Madam Snape is here."

There was a soft exclamation, then a very smartly dressed young woman came into view. Hermione stared for a moment at the other girl, whose long curls fell neatly about her shoulders, before saying, "Penelope Clearwater?"

The Head of the Office of Experimental Magical Solutions came forward with a friendly smile, her hand outstretched. "I wondered if you would remember me! Yes, Healer Clearwater now, actually. Please, come in and sit down."

Hermione advanced into the room and sat down in an armchair, thankful to be off her feet, which were still feeling somewhat unsteady. Healer Clearwater turned to Percy. "That will be all, Percy. You may go to lunch, now."

Turning from him in a gesture of dismissal, the Head returned to her desk. Neither woman spared another glance for Percy Weasley, though the quiet closing of the outer door alerted them to his departure.

Hermione tilted her head fractionally in the direction of Percy's desk. "Didn't you and he ..."

Penelope rolled her eyes. "Yes, at school. And can you believe that he dropped me when he went to work at the Ministry? I was taken on as an Apprentice at St. Mungo's, and I thought that we would carry on with our plans to be married – then he decided it was 'not a smart move at this time in my career, Penny' – what a prat!" Her quick smile was infectious, and Hermione found herself smiling back. "And now I'm his boss. It's perfect, really."

Hermione remembered that she was there for a job interview, and she reached for her briefcase. "I've brought my CV, Healer Clearwater, as I thought you might need it..."

Penelope interrupted her. "Please, Hermione, call me Penny! We don't stand on ceremony in my department. And put your CV away. I know you, I know your reputation, and I've read your course thesis. This is very impressive work."

Penny opened the leather folder on her desk and removed Hermione's paper. "Would you be interested in continuing this line of research? We are still trying to find proper remedies and treatments for the Cruciatus Curse and other types of spellwork that affect the body systems in similar ways."

Hermione sat forward. "Yes. I think we need to pursue the theory of nerve regeneration, taking the starfish as an example, and attempt to duplicate the process by the use of a potion."

Penny pursed her lips. "But didn't Professor Fleagle in Romania run a series of experiments attempting to duplicate that phenomenon, back in the 1980's?"

"Yes! But Fleagle used diced black hellebore, which made his subjects violently ill. If one uses an infusion, the purgative effects are retained in much milder form."

The two young women were promptly immersed in a conversation ranging far and wide over the possible efficacy of potions in various applications. They were thus involved when the outer office door opened violently, hitting the wall with a thud.

* * *

Severus erupted into the Office of Experimental Magical Solutions with his heart in his throat. Even running to the Apparition point in Hogsmeade and from the Apparition point at the Ministry, it had taken him too damn long to find Hermione.

Seeing her sitting hale and whole in the office sent a wave of relief through him that caused him to sag momentarily against the door frame. The look on her face, when she turned and saw him there, was worth more to him than a dozen pay rises.

"Professor Snape!" Penny exclaimed. "How nice to see you. Please, join us."

Severus tore his gaze from Hermione's radiant eyes and advanced into the inner office with some measure of decorum. "Miss Clearwater, good morning. I trust I don't intrude? Hermione had asked me to meet her for lunch."

Hermione bit her lip and saw Penny struggling to keep a straight face; apparently no one was going to comment on him throwing the door open as if he expected to find his wife being held hostage by renegade research staffers.

"Of course you don't intrude, Professor. Hermione and I have been talking shop, and we lost track of the time."

Severus stopped behind Hermione's chair and placed his large, warm hands on her shoulders. As soon as he touched her, an influx of peace stole through her; she felt an immeasurable satisfaction in knowing that the current ran both ways, soothing his emotions as it soothed hers. The exigencies of the morning had left her unnaturally vulnerable; though she was sitting in a job interview, she felt an instinctual desire to escape into him. Her focus was slipping; it was time to bring the interview to a close.

Standing, Hermione held her hand out to Penny, who clasped Hermione's hand between both of her own. "I've wanted you for this job ever since I found out you were both qualified and available," Penny told her. "From my point of view, all that remains is for me to inspect your premises, so that I can requisition the equipment you'll need to begin working. Is there a time that would be convenient for me to visit?"

Hermione smiled excitedly. "We're having friends over for dinner on Friday night, Penny. We'd love for you to join us – we can tour the lab before dinner. Do you have a – friend – you'd like to invite?"

Penny gave her a conspiratorial smile. "Oh, I'm between 'friends' right now. If you have no objection, I'll bring Percy. He can use a little extra detention."

With an agreement to meet at Enchanté on Friday evening, the young women parted company, and Severus led his wife out of the office. Looking about him for the nearest alcove, he moved her down an unused hallway. After casting a Concealing Charm to divert inquiring eyes, he pulled her safely into his arms.

"What happened?" he murmured into her hair.

Hermione clung to the folds of his robes. "It's the first time I've been back here since Dolohov cursed me in the Department of Mysteries," she admitted to the buttons of his coat.

Tipping her face up to search her eyes, he demanded, "Why did you never mention that, Pet? I could have come with you."

Her lips trembled a tiny bit. "I thought I'd be all right. It seemed silly to be afraid of something so stupid. It's only feelings, after all – not real danger."

His face darkened. "Never say that feelings cannot cause fear, Hermione. We both know it isn't true." He held her against him again, revelling in the soothing effect their presence had, each on the other.

"How did you know?" she asked.

His lips twitched. "A little Bast told me."

"What?" she asked, with a little choke of laughter.

"Bast came to me as if somehow, she knew. When I touched her, I could feel your panic and your fear. I came as quickly as I could."

"Oh, Severus."

The catch in her voice betrayed the emotion she was trying so hard to suppress. Hearing the longing and the need and knowing that it mirrored his own, he kissed her, uncaring that they were two well-known adult people snogging in the hallways of the Ministry of Magic.

"Let's go home," he growled into her ear, nipping her earlobe with his teeth.

Even in her befuddled state, Hermione remembered that Gilderoy Lockhart was at her home. "No – can't we – isn't there..."

* * *

...which is how Hermione found herself half dressed and fully engaged in amorous intrigue with her own husband in a London hotel room.

"Don't you think you could at least _try_ to look as if you're old enough to be married to me?" he chided, kicking the door closed and tossing his robes in the general direction of a chair. He grabbed her arm and spun her around, moving his body against hers as if in a dance.

Hermione cast him a sidelong look from beneath half-lidded eyes, an expression guaranteed to drive him mad. "But don't you enjoy it when the porter gives you those envious looks and wonders what you do or say to lure young women to your bed?" she purred, slipping the robes over her head and letting them drop, unheeded, to the floor.

Severus advanced on her menacingly. She retreated, making a fetching picture in her matched bra, knickers, and suspenders hooked to sheer stockings. "All this finery for a job interview?" he taunted, trapping her with the high hotel bed abutting the backs of her thighs.

Hermione tilted her face up to his, letting him see the smouldering in her eyes and her kiss-bruised lips, tender from being violently snogged against the wall in the Ministry of Magic. Holding his gaze, she began to unbutton his fly.

"No, all this finery was actually for your pudding after dinner tonight. If you eat it all up now, whatever will you have for afters?"

"No toying with me, Madam Wife," he said, and unceremoniously tipped her onto the bed, taking matters in hand as he shifted the thoroughly damp knickers to one side and prepared to enter her. "This is what you call having one's cake and eating it too."

* * *

An hour later, her eyes fluttered open to see Severus looking down at her, his cheek propped on one hand.

"What?" she asked him softly, gazing at the crease between his brows.

"I thought you were in danger – I was afraid you had been taken from me."

She reached to smooth the creased skin and allowed her fingertips to lightly trail down the hooked nose to the thin lips, held now as if he were in pain.

"Nothing will take me away from you," she murmured.

"You're mine." The voice held a note of finality, as he gently turned her, spooning up behind her, one long fingered hand snaking around her body and between her legs.

"Yours," she agreed languorously, wriggling her bottom invitingly against him.

"You belong to me," he informed her, entering her from behind, the last word a groan.

"Yes," she responded, as he began to rock her, his free hand deserting the juncture of her thighs to roam her breasts.

"Only mine..."

"Only..." she breathed.

"Always mine ..."

She could only agree, enthusiastically and repeatedly.

* * *

Reaching under the bed, Hermione retrieved the missing stocking and sat down to put it on. On the other pillow, Severus drowsed, the shoulder length black hair in total disarray, the white sheet only half covering him, leaving a line from his right shoulder to the top of his right foot bare to her eyes. With determination, she turned her eyes from him, though she wanted nothing more than to plant a trail of kisses from the arch of that foot to his jutting hipbone...

"Severus."

He stirred and reached for the sheet.

"Severus." More loudly, this time.

One eye opened. "It's called sleeping, Pet. Come. Sleep."

"It's three o'clock, Severus. Don't you have to speak at the Symposium dinner?"

This time the sheet went over his head with muttered words.

She stood and picked up her robes. "No, I'm not coming over there. You'll never get up, if I do."

She pulled the navy blue robes over her head and stepped into her shoes. When she turned to look back at him, he was propped up on his elbows, watching her.

"Dumbledore can stand in for me at the dinner, Pet. I don't want to leave you alone when you're upset." He scowled at her.

She gave him a soft smile from a safe distance across the hotel room. "I'm fine now. I'd forgotten about it, actually. You gave me something else to think about."

One eyebrow arched. "Come back to bed and I'll do it again."

She put her hands on her hips. "Thinking pretty highly of yourself this afternoon, aren't you?"

A dark chuckle greeted her words. "Well, I've _had_ my cake..."

With a gurgle of laughter, she backed toward the door. "And now you're going to... Severus Snape, you are incorrigible! You've got to get back to Hogwarts. I'll see you tonight."

She had to admit that his command of Apparition was impressive. Before she could open the door, he pinned her to it with a sultry kiss.

"Last chance, my little cake," he murmured in a provocative baritone.

She gave his shoulder a tiny shove, slipping to the side and getting the door open. He responded with an amused sneer, folding his arms across his chest and standing naked in front of the partially opened door.

"You're _dangerous_ ," she said, slipping into the corridor.

"That's the nicest thing you've said today," came the wicked reply, before the door closed between them.

* * *

Hermione Apparated to the bottom of the drive at Enchanté, amidst the carefully cultivated box hedges provided for that purpose. With a dreamy smile on her lips, she began to wander up to the house, replaying the stolen hours in the hotel room as she walked. Before she had taken five steps, she heard what sounded like the cry of a house-elf; her eyes flew to the facade of the house, and she was horrified to see flashes of light, gold and red and purple and blue, illuminating the upstairs windows. Pulling her wand, she raced through the front door and into the foyer.

"Quirk!" she called, looking right and left for the elf, but she did not see him. Dropping her briefcase on the foyer table she stopped and listened; she could hear voices, one human and one elf, one uttering threats, the other speaking incantations. The elf was Quirk – was that Lockhart shouting spells aloud?

Swiftly climbing up, she turned into the room at the top of the stairs and found herself viewing the field of battle. Quirk stood before the door in an aggressive attitude, his hands raised to cast his wandless magic. Lockhart was backed up against the far wall, having just cast a charm which turned the walls of the room a lovely shade of yellow. Before Hermione had time to admire the paint job, Quirk snapped his fingers, and with a flash of silver light, the walls were a dingy white once again.

"Quirk!" she exclaimed. "What are you _doing_?"

Quirk jumped as if he had been shocked and turned to face Hermione with a fierce look of determination.

"This bad man is changing Master's house!" Quirk said hotly, throwing Lockhart a look of abject loathing. "But Quirk is not letting him, Mistress! Quirk is fixing Master's house back just the way it was!"

Hermione dropped to her knees, on eye level with the indignant house-elf, and spoke to him very kindly. "Oh, Quirk – I am so very, very sorry."

Quirk frowned a bit, taking a step away from Hermione.

"What is Mistress saying?" he asked fearfully, as if the solid ground beneath his little elf feet was turning to quicksand.

"I asked Mr. Lockhart to change some things in the house, Quirk. Things like the colour of the walls, the wallpaper, the carpets – even some of the furniture. But he is not going to touch Master's _personal_ belongings, such as his papers and his books. Those things, along with Master's clothes and his wand, are the things you are not to move, Quirk. But Mr. Lockhart is only doing what I asked him to do."

To Hermione's consternation, the little house-elf seemed to sag in upon himself and he burst into tears. "Quirk is a bad elf! Oh, Quirk is so bad!" Before she could stop him, Quirk ran head-long into the doorframe, neatly knocking himself out.

"No, Quirk!" she cried, but he was already unconscious on the floor.

"I'll move him," Gilderoy said solicitously, moving forward with wand-arm outstretched.

"NO!" Hermione was on her feet and between Gilderoy and the fallen house-elf before he could advance three steps.

"I – I'll take care of him, Mr. Lockhart, thank you. Please continue with _your_ work," she said as politely as she could, levitating the elf and moving him ahead of her out of the room and down the stairs. The last thing she needed was for Lockhart to be disappearing all the bones in little Quirk's body, or some other "helpful" act.

After tucking Quirk into his small bed in the room adjacent to the kitchen, she made her way back upstairs again. Lockhart was not in the room at the top of the stairs now, but she could see the changes he had made. She stepped onto the hooked rug and gazed at the cheerful yellow walls and the delightful wallpaper with the frolicking woodland creatures. To her left was a cot, varnished white and decorated with stencilled animals that matched the wallpaper. To her right was a rocking chair, softened with cushions in shades of cream and gold. Next to the chair was a small bookcase, before which Hermione knelt with a wondering, "Oh!" On the shelves of the bookcase resided beautiful new copies of every one of her favourite books from her own childhood library.

What a lovely nursery awaited her unborn children here at Enchanté.

With a loving pat on the bookcase, she closed the door on the room at the top of the stairs and went down the hall to see what Lockhart had wrought in the other bedrooms.


	14. Chapter 14

Master of Enchantment

Book 3

Nobody Told Me There'd Be Days Like These

iii: Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

Hermione grabbed her planner and headed downstairs for breakfast. Before she entered the dining room, the planner was open and she was scanning her schedule for the day – tonight was her first dinner party as a new bride and she wanted everything to be perfect.

Severus looked up from his eggs as Hermione passed him, her nose buried in that damn planner. He reached out and unceremoniously caught her about the waist, pulling her willy-nilly into his lap, where she sprawled in a highly unladylike pose. He plucked the planner from her hand and tossed it onto the table, where it slid across the surface and stopped between the teapot and the plate of toast.

"Severus!" she protested, struggling to sit up straight.

"Hermione!" he mocked wickedly before burying his nose in her throat, breathing in the marvelous scent of his wife fresh from her bath. It was a mixture of strawberries and musk and it made him a little crazy. Taste followed scent, as he applied his teeth to her skin, growling his approval.

Feeling that surrender can be the better part of valour, Hermione subsided and lay against his shoulder, stroking his hair. When she ceased her objections, his aggression lessened; they had not yet been married for two months, but she was beginning to learn how to manage her difficult husband in such a way that he hardly noticed he was being managed. With a final, though extremely thorough kiss, she was able to regain her feet and successfully reach her own chair at the breakfast table.

Severus surveyed her with lustful eyes. "Let's go back to bed," he suggested. "Sod party preparations. Quirk can handle things."

Quirk appeared at the table with a warm basket of muffins for Hermione. She accepted them with kind thanks, shooting Severus a quelling look over the house-elf's head. It was really a bit embarrassing to be propositioned by one's husband over the teacups in the presence of an elf.

Quirk, unsure of the reason behind the tension, spoke up. "Quirk will be proud to serve Mistress in any way Master wishes." This proclamation was accompanied by a deep bow.

"Thank you, Quirk," Hermione told him. "I'll discuss it with you later, okay?"

Quirk darted a quick look from the corner of his big green eyes at Severus, who gave him a sour look and jerked his head towards the kitchen. Quirk beat a hasty retreat back to his sanctuary.

Severus applied himself again to the sausages and eggs on his plate. "What is your schedule today?" he muttered sulkily.

Hermione decided to ignore his tone and simply answer his question. "Well," she said, pouring a cup of tea for herself, "I want to get the table set, and the flowers arranged, and make a schedule of when Quirk is to serve each course of the dinner. This afternoon I'll be bathing and fixing my hair and dressing before I meet with Penny and go to inspect the laboratory at Hogwarts. Then she and I will be back here in time to greet Remus and 'Dora and to have drinks before we eat."

Finding nothing to either approve or disapprove in this litany of mundane activities, Severus preserved his silence and finished his coffee. When her attention remained riveted on the bloody planner, he asked at last, "And when is my presence required?"

Hermione ran a finger down the list. "I'll definitely need you by six. You haven't brought up the wines from the cellar, and I don't want to try to decide what to serve. If you are home by six, you'll have time to bring the wine up before you dress for dinner."

Severus stood, a menacing figure towering over his wife in his black robes. When she continued to nibble on her muffin and jot notes in the planner with a quill, instead of jumping up to kiss him goodbye and wish him a good day at work, his lips thinned in displeasure.

"Very well, ma'am," he said in coldly formal tones, and he picked up his brief case. "I will endeavour to be at _your_ party on time."

Too late, Hermione realized her error, and she scrambled out of her chair to pay her husband some proper attention. He, however, had Disapparated on the spot.

"Damn!" she said. The last thing she needed today was a pouting Severus. What in the world was the matter with him? Didn't he want the party to go well?

* * *

Severus marched up the castle drive from the gates, remembering that morning earlier in the week when he had been irritated with Hermione for being so sad about his return to work. Every morning since that first one, she had all but shoved him out the door before he finished his coffee. What in the world was the matter with her? Didn't she care about him?

Albus Dumbledore, returning from a stroll down to visit with Hagrid, saw his Potions master approaching with a look on his face that was all too familiar. Correctly divining the source of Severus' bad temper, he waited for the younger wizard to reach him, then said mildly, "Good morning, Severus. Beautiful day today, isn't it?"

Severus did not so much as slow down, responding to this pleasantry with a withering look of scorn.

Dumbledore tried again, addressing Severus' swiftly retreating back. "Are things all right at home, dear boy?"

This sally brought the angry Snape to a stop, as he whirled on the spot, in an apparently stupendous rage, and snarled, "Mind your own business, if you please, Headmaster."

Dumbledore approached Severus with a placating hand extended, as one might advance upon an angered dog. "Did you quarrel with Hermione?" he asked solicitously.

Severus sneered at the older wizard. "How many years have you been married, Albus?" he asked in a dangerously reasonable tone.

"I've never been married, Severus, you know that," Dumbledore replied.

"Then I suggest you keep your marriage counseling for someone who may value your input," he snapped before turning on his heel and sweeping into the castle.

Minerva McGonagall's greeting to Severus died upon her lips as he stomped past her without acknowledging her presence. Proceeding out onto the grounds, she met Dumbledore as he stood, his head cocked to one side, gazing at the spot lately occupied by Severus Snape.

"Albus, what is the matter with Severus?" McGonagall demanded.

Dumbledore came up to her, offering his arm. "I would not recommend that you ask him just now, Minerva," he answered.

She frowned. "Are they rowing? So soon?"

Dumbledore's lips twitched. "What is the alchemical process that turns ice to fire, my dear?"

McGonagall slipped her hand into the crook of the proffered elbow and paced with him back to the castle entrance. "Don't be ridiculous, Albus. There is no such process."

"It's called marriage, Minerva," he informed her quietly, as they entered Hogwarts.

* * *

Hermione rushed to answer the front door, admitting her interior designer. Today, he wore an ensemble in his trademark lilac, embroidered all over with spangled gold stars.

"Good morning, Mr. Lockhart," she said politely, as he stepped into the foyer.

"Good morning, dear lady," Gilderoy responded, wisely not attempting to kiss her hand. For some reason, this young witch did not seem to respond well to his gallantries. Perhaps she actually _preferred_ her scowling husband. Gilderoy had not met him yet, but he had seen some photographs from their wedding in various places in the house. The unpleasant-looking fellow seemed vaguely familiar, but Gilderoy could not place him.

Hermione led the way into the sitting room. "Mr. Lockhart, I am giving a dinner party this evening. I would appreciate it very much if you could finish your work in this room today."

Gilderoy looked about the sitting room in its shabby state. "Of course, of course!" He gave her one of his brilliant smiles. "I am quite a dab hand at parties too, you know. Perhaps I could be of some assistance..."

Hermione flashed on Ron's freckled face, blanched white as he fainted at her wedding, with the words, "spangled pink confetti" on his bloodless lips. Having had personal experience of Lockhart's idea of parties – she would never forget the Valentine's Day debacle of her second year at Hogwarts, when dwarves dressed like cupids stalked the halls of the school at Lockhart's instigation – Hermione suppressed an involuntary shudder and risked a friendly pat on his lilac-clad arm.

"I really, really need your help getting the sitting room fit for company," she told him with false earnestness. "I just don't know how I'll manage today without you to make this room smart before my guests arrive!" She ended this barefaced lie with a confiding smile.

Gilderoy swelled with pride at this display of neediness for his services. "Very well," he said, in his smarmiest voice. "You may depend upon me, madam!"

"Excellent!" Hermione praised him. "Before you go this afternoon, I would like to meet with you and look over all you've done in the house. Perhaps you could meet me in the room at the top of the stairs at five?"

His agreement was interrupted by the entrance of Quirk, who behaved as if Hermione were the only person in the room.

"Quirk is bringing Mistress her mail," Quirk told her, handing over a Muggle envelope bearing a sticker pre-printed with her name and direction. It was from her parents, then – and was marked "Urgent."

"Thank you, Quirk." She ripped the envelope open, extracting a piece of her parents' office stationary, emblazoned across the top of the page with **_The Granger Dental Clinic_**. Her mother's handwritten note bore the message that was the first indication of her day going pear-shaped.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I am sorry if it is not perfectly convenient for you, but you really **must**_ _come and fetch your cat without delay. He got into your father's study last night and made such a mess that we may have to replace the carpet. We were happy to keep him so you could go on your honeymoon, but if you don't come for him immediately, your father is going to lock him in the garden shed, and I know you won't like that. Neither, of course, will Crookshanks._

_Please give my love to Severus,_

_Mummy_

Hermione jumped up. "Excuse me, Mr. Lockhart; I must run an errand now. Please let Quirk know if you need anything," she added, with a stern glance at the house-elf. Quirk had become quite adept in the last day or so at behaving as if Lockhart were an annoying houseplant.

Lockhart cast a doubtful look at Quirk, who was ignoring him and bowing to Hermione. "As Mistress wishes," the elf said to his feet.

"Right!" Hermione said with false cheeriness, leaving the two combatants to their own devices as she rushed from the room to go make ready for her quick trip to her parents' home.

* * *

Severus completed the task of restocking the shelves of the classroom ingredient cupboard and carried the remaining crates to the storeroom by hand. His wand lay discarded on top of his robes and his coat; his shirtsleeves were rolled up as he toiled with the manual labour. His rage had dissipated, but his pique remained.

He wasn't a child; he knew that marriage was hard work at the best of times. The Enchantment was a powerful component in his relationship with Hermione, and it had certainly driven them into marrying with more haste, perhaps, than a non-Enchanted couple might have done. But there remained certain marks of attention that one must not forget to bestow upon one's spouse, if for no other reason than common courtesy. How could she tune him out so completely, just because she had a project to occupy her? Was this what it was going to be like, having a brilliant wife who was immersed in her career?

He closed the storeroom door and warded it. As he picked up his cast-off clothing, pocketed his wand, and headed into his rooms, he reflected that he had only a very short period of time left that he might refer to these rooms as "his;" all too soon, even his own quarters would become "theirs."

When he passed through the door, Bast leapt at him. It was not uncommon for her to greet him when he came into the room; it was rather unusual for her to be unseemly about it, however.

Disengaging her claws from his shirt front, he set her upon the ground. "Behave yourself," he said shortly and Flooed the kitchens for a lunch tray. Bast began weaving about his ankles and rubbing her face against the fabric of his trousers. Too preoccupied with his own morose thoughts to give much attention to the cat's behaviour, he went into his bedroom to strip out of his sweaty clothing and step into the shower for a quick wash-up. Bast, with typical cat dislike for water, did not follow him into the shower, but contented herself with sitting on the bathmat and meowing her comments at the top of her Siamese voice.

* * *

With Crookshanks' carrier in one hand, and a bag with his dishes in the other hand, Hermione walked up the drive to the front door of Enchanté. "This is our new home, Crookshanks," she told him as she entered the house.

She went straight into the kitchen, where Quirk was using levitation to move a stack of china, crystal and silver from the cupboard to the dining room. Hermione stared at the dishes.

"Quirk, where did those things come from?" she asked.

Quirk looked very pleased with himself. "Quirk found the dishes in a cupboard in the cellar. Does Mistress like them?"

"Yes, Quirk, very much." Hermione beamed at him.

Quirk completed his task with the plates and went to peer into the cat carrier as Hermione began to unpack Crookshanks' dishes.

"Who is this, Mistress?" he inquired curiously.

"This is Crookshanks, Quirk. He's my cat. I really wasn't planning to retrieve him from my parents' home until Master and I go back to Hogwarts, but my mum insisted. Would you keep an eye on him for me, please? I have so much to do today!"

"As Mistress wishes," Quirk replied doubtfully, looking at the faintly malevolent yellow cat-eyes staring at him from the squashed-in face of the half-Kneazle in the carrier.

"Excellent!" Hermione said, bustling into the dining room and leaving her affronted familiar in the care of yet another stranger.

* * *

Gilderoy finished the plate of sandwiches supplied for his lunch by the sullen house-elf and daintily wiped his mouth. The Snapes' sitting room was coming along very nicely. The walls had been repainted a flat cream barely tinted with cinnamon. The sofa was upholstered in a warm cinnamon, while the settee had been redone in a persimmon silk damask with throw pillows in various shades of straw. The armchairs were now of a soft leather the colour of nutmeg. The Axminster rug on the floor had been magically restored to its original hues. Gilderoy was pleased with his work, though he felt the family photographs the young lady of the house had asked to hang on the walls were somewhat dull. He had a few rather expensive ornaments he planned to recommend to the rich old witch who had paid for this job.

He folded his napkin and placed it neatly on his lunch tray, then went to the mirror over the fireplace to make sure his hair was in place. Once again, his eye fell on the peculiar glass jar with the live beetle moving about in it. He had attempted to move the jar from the mantel more than once, only to be foiled by the blasted house-elf, who persistently returned the jar to its original place, darkly muttering about "Master's _Personal_ Things."

Gilderoy cast a furtive glance about the sitting room. If he could not remove the bug-in-a-glass-jar from the mantel, at least he could make the container more elegant. With a flourish of his wand and a spoken incantation, the unbreakable jar was transfigured into an ornamental crystal flagon with a cut-glass stopper.

He was distracted from his admiration of the jar solution by the sound of humming from a room across the foyer. He wandered in that direction and slipped through the door, to find himself in a formal dining room. The large cherry table was dressed with immaculate white Irish linen, china, old silver and crystal wineglasses.

The witch of the house was standing at the sideboard, humming happily to herself as she arranged flowers in a crystal vase. Gilderoy watched her at this for a period of time, thinking to himself that her taste was quite good and that she had a bit of an eye for the delicate art. When she had finished, she stepped back to view her work with her head tilted slightly to the left.

Gilderoy took a step towards her. "Quite charming, madam," he commented.

Hermione jumped at the sound of the voice behind her. "Mr. Lockhart!" she said, placing one hand over her thumping heart. "I didn't know you were there."

Gilderoy was not attending to her, however; he was viewing the flower arrangement from her left, before he moved to her right and considered it from that standpoint. "May I make a suggestion?" he asked politely.

Hermione opened her mouth to refuse, but Lockhart moved to her side without waiting for an answer. He chose one long-stemmed yellow rose from the detritus scattered upon her work surface and deftly placed the flower, making a minute adjustment of the greenery surrounding it. Then he stepped away again and repeated his inspection from each side.

"There. That's better, don't you think?"

Hermione gaped at the lovely flower arrangement. She couldn't explain why, but the slight change he had made in her work had improved the whole immensely. The strange man actually did have a gift for this type of thing.

"Yes," she said, softly. "Thank you, Mr. Lockhart."

At the note of true admiration in her voice, Gilderoy beamed at her, and bowed from the waist with a flourish. Hermione restrained herself from rolling her eyes; she simply moved the flower arrangement to the middle of her elegantly laid table.

After admiring it for a moment, she glanced at her wristwatch. "Please excuse me, Mr. Lockhart; I have many things still to do! I will meet with you in the room at the top of the stairs before you leave for the day."

Gilderoy stepped to the door and held it open for her. "Excellent, madam."

Hermione gave him a smile of thanks and left the room to head upstairs and begin to bathe and dress for her evening.

* * *

Severus stood rigidly behind the desk in his office, his lips compressed in a thin white line. Albus Dumbledore sat in the straight chair provided for the unfortunate visitor to the Potions master's domain with his hands folded in his lap and a look of unruffled serenity on his benign countenance.

"I _do_ have work of my own to complete, Headmaster. That _is_ why I am back at work before my honeymoon is properly over," he snarled at the dotty old man.

"I do understand that Severus, and I am sincerely sorry to put you to any additional trouble." Dumbledore reached into his pocket and removed a crumpled paper bag from its depths. As if he had all the time in the world – as if Severus Snape were not standing five feet away from him with clenched fists, barely keeping his desire to throttle the older wizard with his bare hands in check – Dumbledore opened the bag and popped a hard candy into his mouth. "Sherbet lemon?" he inquired, indicating the paper sack.

Dumbledore was saved from the fluent swearing of his Potions master by the entrance of Minerva McGonagall. Severus swallowed the words he was dying to fling at his tormentor and took a hasty turn about the room, casting frequent burning looks of reproach at the Headmaster and his Deputy.

"Albus, the Minister is here. And the Symposium guests are gathered for the final panel discussion in the Great Hall. Do hurry!" McGonagall simply ignored the storming Snape; she had not permitted his tantrums to trouble her when he was her student and she was not about to change that policy now.

Dumbledore stood. "Severus, I am depending upon you. Filius was set to conduct the Charms panel, but he was called out of town this morning due to family illness. If you would prefer to stand in as the moderator on the discussion panel, I would be happy to relinquish the post to you and conduct the Minister about the castle to view the improvements."

At the suggestion that _he_ , Severus Snape, denizen of the dungeons and chief detractor of foolish wand waving, should moderate a discussion panel on _Charms_ , his look of horror was so profound that even McGonagall had a difficult time not smiling. Seeing this capitulation to his wishes, however inadvertent, Dumbledore moved with sudden alacrity.

"Excellent! I shall leave you to it then, Severus. You will find the Minister waiting for you in my office." Without another apparent thought for his put-upon Potions master, Dumbledore escorted McGonagall out of the office.

"Damnation!" Severus relieved his feelings by flinging an empty glass beaker across the room and watching it shatter on the dungeon wall. Collapsing into his chair, he pinched the bridge of his nose, the furrow between his brows deeply pronounced.

After a moment of silent fuming, he stood and walked out of his office. Planning various ways to make Albus pay for this latest insult to his dignity was a satisfactory pastime, but it did not complete the task of escorting Cornelius Bloody Fudge about Hogwarts and listening to his inane prattle about the State of Wizarding Education in Britain.

He entered his quarters with the single-minded goal of changing his robes for some a bit more suited to a meeting with the Minister of Magic. When he entered his bedroom, he was disgusted to find Bast beside the clothes hamper, rolling about with a dirty sock she had dragged from its depths.

"Stop that," he thundered at her, reaching for the misused footwear. Bast, deciding this would be a lovely game, snagged the sock with a claw and pulled it from his fingers. Light slowly dawned as he abandoned the sock and snatched a calendar from the top of his bureau.

Bugger.

In the rush of his hasty wedding and a prolonged honeymoon, he had not dosed Bast with the potion that suppressed her reproductive cycle in over a month. No wonder she was following him about, howling at the top of her voice, and assaulting his clothing – any hint of male pheromone would do for a female cat in season.

"Master Snape?" a timid elfish voice squeaked from the sitting room.

Severus answered. "I am in the bedroom, Corky."

The Hogwarts house-elf stepped into the bedroom and bowed low. "The Minister is waiting for Master Snape in Professor Dumbledore's office, Sir," he explained. "The Minister is asking Corky how much longer Master Snape will be."

"Please advise the Minister that I will be with him directly, Corky," Severus replied shortly. He opened the wardrobe and snatched one of his newer sets of teaching robes from a hanger.

"Yes, Master Snape," Corky said, before leaving the room.

Severus put on the robes and glared down at Bast. "I'll deal with you later," he told her threateningly. Bast meowed at him provocatively, as if he were promising her a rare treat. With a muttered request that Merlin save him from committing murder this day, he stepped into the fireplace and Flooed to the Headmaster's office.

* * *

Hermione gave her hair one final pat in the bedroom mirror before hurrying down to the kitchen.

"Quirk, do you have the schedule of when to serve the appetizers, and each course of the dinner?" she asked anxiously, looking about the kitchen at the preparations for her dinner party.

"Yes, Mistress," he answered her patiently. "Quirk has everything he needs. All is well."

Crookshanks, still imprisoned in his carrier, spoke up in protest of this egregiously false statement.

Hermione knelt by the carrier. "I'm sorry, Crooks," she said penitently. "Will you be a good boy if I let you out?"

The cat gave her a flat stare from his yellow eyes.

"Of course you will," she answered herself. She reached out and lifted the latch, releasing her familiar. Crookshanks promptly butted the door open with his large head and streaked out of the room without a backward glance.

Hermione jumped up. "Oh no! Crookshanks!" She looked frantically at her wrist watch. "Quirk, I must go – will you please find him and make sure he's okay?"

Quirk was a very well-trained house-elf. No hint of his annoyance showed on his face. "Yes, Mistress. Quirk will look after kitty."

With a grateful smile, Hermione rushed off to meet with her new employer.

* * *

Penny Clearwater stood at the gates of Hogwarts.

"I hope you didn't have to wait long!" Hermione cried, approaching Penny with a friendly smile.

"I just got here," Penny assured her, tucking one hand in Hermione's arm as they began the walk to the castle. "Is Professor Snape going to do the walk-through with us?"

Hermione made a wry face. "He was kind of in a snit when he left for work this morning, so I don't know..."

Penny looked alarmed. "I remember what he's like in a snit. Is that hard to deal with when you're married to him?"

Hermione giggled at the expression on Penny's face. "Well, so far we've managed to work out our differences without bloodshed."

Penny looked thoughtful for a moment. "You know, Hermione, he was appallingly scary when we were at school, but more than one Ravenclaw said within my hearing that they imagined Professor Snape to have a great deal of suppressed ... passion."

The flush in Hermione's cheeks answered the unasked question.

"I see," Healer Clearwater said with a snicker.

Hermione flashed a sideways grin. "Let's just say that there's not much need for suppression anymore."

"Well, I imagine it makes for brilliant shagging," Penny said, "but also for fearsome rows."

Hermione nodded emphatically. "That just about covers it."

They reached the castle doors and headed for the dungeons. "We'll just pop into his office before we go to the laboratory to see if he has time to walk through with us," Hermione said, leading the way.

* * *

Mindful of his instructions, Gilderoy Lockhart cast a final look of approval about the sitting room before he climbed up the stairs to await Madam Snape in the room at the top of the stairs. He entered the redecorated nursery, glancing carefully at his many improvements to make sure the destructive little house-elf hadn't been sneaking in to undo his work while he wasn't looking. Relieved to note that everything appeared to be in place, he sat down in the rocking chair to await the lady of the house. He might as well put the waiting time to good use – surely no one could object if he answered some fan mail while he waited?

* * *

Quirk made another lap through the kitchen, chasing after Mistress's kitty. Why was kitty so vexed and upset? Quirk had done nothing to make kitty angry! Oh, Quirk wished he had asked Mistress's permission to use magic to control kitty. If he had to spend all of his time chasing kitty around the house, how would he be able to finish preparing the food for tonight!

* * *

Finding Severus' office to be empty, Hermione and Penny continued on to his private laboratory without looking for him elsewhere.

"He's undoubtedly busy with something," Hermione said, taking down the wards on the private laboratory. "This is his personal research facility, but he has agreed to share space with me – probably to keep me working from home," she added with a smile.  
In this moment, her conscience twinged. He had been so _good_ to her, doing everything just as she wanted it done, from the wedding to the honeymoon. He had been living his life in this castle for as long as she had been alive, and he was changing everything for her. And she had been thoughtless of his feelings! Oh, she was sorry now, and wanted nothing so much as to throw her arms around him and thank him. She vowed to herself that she would do so at the very next opportunity that presented itself to her.

This resolution made, she brought her attention back to the task at hand. "The layout of the work stations is perfect for the type of research we have planned..."

* * *

Percy Weasley Apparated to the designated point in the Snapes' shrubbery and took a moment to make sure that his robes were hanging properly on him before starting up the walk to the entrance. As he approached the front door, he saw the discreetly placed sign at the edge of the drive, proclaiming the property name as Enchanté. A smirk crossed his face; if his younger brother, Ron, was to be believed, the Snapes had the Enchantment. What a quaint thing, then, to call their home! For a moment, he wondered if Penny had arrived yet. He still thought of her as Penny, even though she made him call her Healer Clearwater at the office. Honestly, the way she carried on, it seemed as if she were never going to forgive him for breaking up with her! He knew better, though; he was every bit as fascinating now as he had been when he was Head Boy at Hogwarts. Penny would not be able to hold out against his charm forever.

With these pleasant thoughts in his mind, he rang the bell at the Snapes' front door.

* * *

Quirk stopped in his tracks when he heard the front bell chime. A quick look at the clock told him that it was already six o'clock. He was behind schedule, with so much still to be done, and the guests already beginning to arrive! Casting anxiously about in his mind for the tenets of his training that applied to this situation, Quirk came to a decision. He would have to let kitty fend for himself, while Quirk attended to the guests and the food preparation. Surely one kitty could not cause too much trouble?

* * *

Gilderoy started in his chair. Had he been dozing? There were a few of his autographed photographs scattered across the rug. Perhaps he had drifted off. But what had wakened him? It was some kind of scratching noise...

He stood, his curiosity piqued, and crossed the floor to open the door.

* * *

Penny stood up from the stool she had settled on when she and Hermione began discussing the research project they had in mind. "We had best get to your house, Hermione – I'm planning to change into my party dress before we sit down to dinner." Penny held up her handbag, indicating that she had brought a change of clothing with her.

Hermione glanced at her wrist watch and jumped up with a small scream. "It's after six! Oh my goodness, Penny, I had no idea!"

Penny chuckled and led the way to the door. "We'd best get cracking then," she said before disappearing into the dungeon corridor.

* * *

Quirk opened the door to the young man with the flaming red hair and executed a deep bow.

"Welcome to Enchanté," he said, stepping aside and allowing the guest to enter.

"Am I the first to arrive?" the stranger inquired, looking into the sitting room.

"Sir is the first guest to arrive," Quirk agreed.

"Excellent," the man said. "Could you direct me to the gents' then?"

Quirk closed the door and directed the red haired man to the downstairs bathroom.

* * *

Gilderoy had scarcely gotten the door open before an orange streak flew past his legs into the room.

"Great Scott!" he exclaimed, leaping back instinctively as Crookshanks shot under the white baby cot and stopped, glaring out at him with eerie yellow eyes.

"Shoo!" Gilderoy very unwisely said, advancing on the berserk feline and flapping his hands in an ineffectual manner.

Crookshanks answered with a hiss before flinging himself across the room to the cheerful yellow curtains and beginning to climb them with a curious lack of grace.

The reason for the lack became apparent when the curtains were ripped from the rings supporting them by the weight of the unfortunate Crookshanks.

In his agitation, Gilderoy actually clutched at his faultlessly arranged golden waves. "Noooo!" he shrieked, before freezing the cat in a Full Body Bind and levitating him out the door and down the stairs.

Honestly! This Snape house was not run in a very efficient manner! It was not at all what he was accustomed to, working in the homes of the best wizarding families in Britain! He had a good mind to let that old dragon, Madam Seraphina Snape, know just what he thought of her stupid nephew and his unaccountable bride. Fuming, he went to the bottom of the stairs, then glanced about for a spot where the cat's body could be hidden.

Hearing voices approaching the front door, he ducked into the dining room with the petrified cat and closed the door behind him.

* * *

Hermione flung the door to the house open and invited Penny inside. "I can't believe I lost track of the time like this!" she exclaimed, closing the door and looking around her. "Penny, my room is at your disposal! Just go upstairs and turn to your right; my room is the first one there. Please make yourself at home! I've got to go find Quirk!"

Penny chuckled to herself as Hermione fled toward the back of the house. Penny glanced into the very nicely decorated sitting room, but she didn't see Percy. Was the berk going to stand her up? It would be that _last_ thing he ever did, she vowed to herself. She might as well go upstairs and make herself beautiful; if Percy did show up, it would much easier to torment him if she were looking particularly pretty.

She mounted the steps; to her left, a door was ajar, with an alluring golden glow coming from within. Forgetting that Hermione had said the bedroom would be to her right, she went to the door and pushed it open.

Oh, for the love of Merlin! It was a nursery! A completely decorated nursery, in warm shades of yellow, just waiting for a wee wizard baby. Penny went further into the room, trailing one hand along the lovely little white cot as she admired the books on the matching shelf. What a sly thing that Hermione was! How far along was she? Professor Snape certainly didn't waste any time, did he?

Feeling a slightly envious tug in the region of her heart, Penny backed out of the room. She must be discreet; Hermione would tell her when she was ready to speak of it. Thoughtfully, Penny went into the bedroom on the other side of the stairwell and set about changing her dress and touching up her hair.

* * *

Gilderoy cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and peeked out into the foyer to make sure the coast was clear before abandoning the forgotten cat and sneaking back up the stairs. He had promised to meet Madam Snape in the nursery before he went home tonight, but it seemed as if she had forgotten all about him. Hadn't she just said something about going to look for that obnoxious house-elf? Really! He should just go up, fix the curtains, collect his things, and go home.

* * *

Quirk directed Percy into the sitting room and placed the requested tumbler of brandy in his hand before closing the sitting room door and bowing his way out. Percy sipped the brandy, approving the fine taste, as he strolled about the room, admiring the furnishings. Perhaps if he had a chance to drink a bit of brandy, he would be more relaxed and charming when Penny finally arrived.

On the mantelpiece, beneath the hanging mirror, he noticed what appeared to be a crystal decanter with a bug in it. As he reached out a hand to investigate the container, the beetle trapped within opened its wings and fluttered against its prison walls. Percy frowned. The Snapes had fine brandy, an attractive sitting room, but what in the world were they about, keeping a bug in crystal bottle over the fireplace where most people kept ornamental plates?

Shaking his head over the oddity of his hosts, he returned to the drinks tray and poured more brandy.

* * *

Severus dragged himself back into his rooms, exhaustion in every line of his body. Here was incontrovertible proof that spending one afternoon in the company of Cornelius Fudge was more harrowing than teaching Potions to first-year Hufflepuffs.

He was pulling the teaching robes off as he entered his bedroom, headed for the loo. The interminable tour of the campus had been followed by the intolerable drinking of cup after cup of tea while the Minister went on and on about any number of inconsequential things. He desperately needed the loo.

As he came out of the bathroom, buttoning his fly, his eye fell upon the clock. Six-twenty. SIX-TWENTY?

He might be a husband who was a bit miffed at his wife's inattention to him, but he was a very married man, for all that. He knew that his life was in jeopardy, late as he was for his bride's summons to their first dinner party. Without a thought but getting home quickly, he grabbed his brief case from the floor and hurtled out the door.

* * *

Penny completed her toilette and went downstairs in search of her hostess. She found Hermione in the kitchen, feverishly going over her menu with the house-elf. Seating herself at the kitchen table, Penny helped herself to a carrot from the relish tray. Before she could take a bite, the doorbell chimed. Hermione looked at her watch again.

"Quirk, you stay here and work on dinner. I'll get the door." She turned and saw Penny. "Penny! You'll get your dress messy! Come with me to the sitting room; I think we both could use a glass of sherry!"

The two young women left the kitchen and went into the foyer, where Hermione opened the door.

"Remus! 'Dora!" she cried, pulling her friends into the entrance hall. "I'm so glad you're here! Severus is nowhere to be found and the wine still hasn't been brought up from the cellar."

Lupin politely shook hands with Penny and introduced her to Tonks before grinning at Hermione in response to her non-sequitur. "Never fear, Hermione, I'll go to the cellar. Where is Severus?"

Penny and Tonks moved to the sitting room door, chatting comfortably. Hermione looked worriedly at her former professor. "Didn't you see him today?" she asked. Lupin shook his head, and she continued, "I don't know where he is, Remus. We had a bit of a row this morning – do you think he'll stay away?"

Lupin placed a comforting brotherly arm about her shoulders. "I spent the day in London with 'Dora today, so I wasn't at the castle. But, no, Hermione, I don't think he'll stay away. Don't fret. He'll be here."

Lupin gave Hermione a reassuring smile and she took him to the kitchen and showed him the cellar door. With the dinner menu in one hand, he went down to choose wines to serve with their meal. Hermione watched him descending the cellar steps until she felt a tugging at the hem of her robe. She turned to find Quirk peering up at her anxiously.

"Quirk hopes Mistress will not be angry," he said, "but Quirk was not able to keep kitty in the kitchen. Kitty would not let Quirk come near him."

Hermione looked desperately around the kitchen. "Where is he, Quirk?"

Quirk looked upset. "Quirk does not know, Mistress. Quirk had to answer the door, and to see to preparing dinner, and kitty would not be still. Quirk is ever so sorry, Mistress!" he ended on a wailing note.

Hermione patted his shoulder. "It's okay, Quirk. I know that Crookshanks can be difficult sometimes, and he was quite unhappy that I left him with my parents for so long. I'll sure he'll be fine." She moved towards the dining room. "I'll just look around for him a bit."

* * *

Penny opened the sitting room door and was startled to find Percy Weasley seated before the hearth. Tonks looked at him in surprise. "Percy!" she said. "Did Hermione _invite_ you to dinner?"

Penny closed the sitting room door as Percy bustled up to her, all officious importance. "Good evening, ladies," he said, smiling as he approached them. "Penny, you look lovely!"

Penny stared at him until his eyes dropped uncomfortably and his hand came up to tug on the collar of his robes. "Erm, Healer Clearwater, I meant to say. And how nice to see you again, Tonks!"

Penny's lips twitched as Tonks stared Percy until he looked away. In self-defence, Percy went to the drinks tray and poured himself another tumbler of Severus' best brandy, then swallowed a large mouthful. It appeared that he would require a copious measure of liquid courage to make it through this dinner party.

Behaving as if he were not present, the two young women continued their private conversation, while Percy found a chair to inhabit.

"She was throwing up?" Penny asked.

"Yes, and she said she had been throwing up all morning," Tonks added after a moment's thought.

Penny leaned toward Tonks confidentially, lowering her voice so that not even Percy could hear her. "I was just upstairs freshening up – there is a completely furnished nursery up there – every single item is brand new..."

* * *

Severus Apparated directly into the foyer of his home and looked about him, desperately. There was no one in sight; perhaps he was not in too much trouble. He raced up the stairs, two at a time, and rushed into this bedroom, dropping his briefcase on the floor and unbuttoning his clothes as he headed for the bathroom.

The muffled "mrrow" that he heard when he dropped the brief case on the bedroom floor froze him in his tracks. He turned horrified eyes to the bag which had toppled to one side, and from which an affronted Bast emerged with a look of reproach.

"What are you DOING in that bag?" he demanded, advancing on his familiar angrily.

Bast heard that tone of voice and did not linger to find out what was upsetting him. Her sense of smell informing her that she was now in entirely new territory, she set off like the proverbial bat out of hell, dashing from the room and down the stairs, looking for a hiding place.

Severus watched her go with a rising sense of frustration. Should he chase the uncatchable cat, or should he bathe and dress for the party he was hosting? What kind of trouble could Bast find, locked up in a perfectly safe house? He would see Quirk as soon as possible and ask him to watch out for her. For now, he had best make himself presentable.

* * *

Lupin emerged from the cellar with only a few cobwebs caught in his sandy hair, triumphantly bearing a basket filled with wine bottles. Hermione, fresh from having made a circuit of the dining room and Quirk's room without seeing Crookshanks, greeted him like a conquering hero and cast a spell to remove the cobwebs from his hair, while Quirk took the wine bottles and began to clean them.

"Let's go see what the others are doing," Hermione suggested, grabbing the appetizer tray from the table and leading Lupin towards the sitting room. "I'm sure you could use a drink, Remus."

He agreed with her, opening the door to let her pass into the room with the tray of snacks, before following her in and going to pour himself a tumbler of brandy.

* * *

Bast entered the kitchen at a run and froze at the sight of the house-elf, who was labouring to spread icing on a cake. Quirk looked at the small black cat in alarm – what had happened to Mistress's big fluffy orange kitty? This kitty was small and smooth and black!

Quirk looked at the clock, then at kitty, then at the cake, then at the schedule Mistress had provided for him. He had to keep working on the dinner. Mistress said she would look out for the kitty. Hopefully, it would not be Quirk's fault if the big orange fluffy kitty became a small black smooth kitty. With a great deal of courage, Quirk turned his back on the cat and continued with his task.

* * *

Crookshanks felt the sensation returning to his legs. From underneath the sideboard in the dining room, where the crazy man with the wand had shoved him with a foot after dropping him on the floor, he could see a crack of light through the door into the kitchen. Hermione had come into the room calling his name, but he could not have answered her, even if he wasn't already upset with her, because of the curse the crazy man had cast on him. He could move now, though, and he could also smell – he sniffed the air one more time before slowly advancing on the door into the kitchen, which Hermione had left ajar. Unless he was dreaming, there was a female in the next room who was just dying to meet him.

* * *

Gilderoy repaired the damage done to the window treatment by that great hairy brute and stood back to survey the effect. With a tiny flick of his wand, he moved the right hand edge of the curtains up just a tad. There. Perfect.

He bent over and began to gather his scattered photographs, tucking them back into his bag and thinking of how easy it would be to sneak down the stairs and out the front door in his Disillusioned state. He was just about to stand and head for the door when a pair of well-polished black boots entered his line of sight. With a deep sense of foreboding, he let his eyes travel up the black trousers, on up the black coat, until his eyes came to rest on the face of the devil himself.

With a frightened little shudder, Gilderoy discreetly fainted.

* * *

Hermione watched her guests embark on their third servings of pre-dinner drinks before she took one last despairing look at her watch and rose from her seat with as much aplomb as she could manage.

"Let's move on into the dining room," she said to them, leading the way across the foyer. "I'm sure that Severus will be here any time now."

* * *

Crookshanks pressed his way through the doorway into the kitchen silently. The female he had scented was perched beneath the kitchen table, watching the movements of the house-elf. By way of announcement, Crookshanks hissed.

Bast jumped straight into the air when the other cat hissed at her; she pirouetted in mid-air and landed facing the great ugly monster, her back arched and her fur standing on end as she returned the challenging hiss.

Quirk froze when he heard the unmistakable sounds of a brewing cat-fight. He turned from the counter and saw the two cats facing off, backs arched and feral growls issuing from each throat. As he readied himself to immobilize them, the small black kitty skittered into the hallway, with the big orange kitty in hot pursuit. At the same moment, Mistress rang her little hand bell, signaling Quirk to serve the soup. Hoping against hope that the kitties would stay out of the dining room, Quirk obediently carried the soup to the table.

* * *

Severus stood, dumbstruck, inside the doorway of the unused room at the top of the stairs. He had entered this room only because of the strange noises coming from behind the closed door. Before his uncomprehending eyes, he saw the evidence of his wife's perfidy. No wonder she had been acting so oddly. How could she not TELL him? His eyes passed over the baby cot, the rocking chair, the bookshelves stocked with children's literature, the nursery-themed wall paper, and for a moment he sagged against the doorframe. A baby? _Their_ baby? Primordial joy surged through him, followed by fierce consternation. Pulling himself straight again, he turned on his heel, his only thought to reach his wife.

"Hermione!" he bellowed and tore down the stairs.

* * *

Bast flew through the sitting room door as only a berserk cat can move. She jumped onto the sofa, moved quickly to a chair, bounced off the chair onto the back of the settee, sending cushions flying as she nearly lost her footing, then leapt like a panther onto the mantelpiece, sending knick knacks flying; an odd crystal flagon skittered to the edge of the mantel and stopped.

Crookshanks was hot on her heels, giving chase for all he was worth, bounding from the sofa to the chair to the settee – where he was balked. Crookshanks knew very well that he could not make the leap onto the mantel; he was just too heavy. Instead, he jumped onto the floor directly beneath the other cat and stared at her with sinister yellow eyes.

From her lofty perch, Bast surveyed her victory with smug satisfaction. After staring defiantly at the ginger coloured ogre at her feet, she noticed movement in the clear bottle. Cocking her elegantly shaped triangular head to one side, she reached out with a coy paw and batted the crystal decanter infinitesimally closer to the edge of the mantel over the stone hearth.

* * *

When her husband's voice blared through the room, Hermione dropped her spoon with a clatter that splashed soup all over the tablecloth.

"Severus is home!" she said, giving her guests a smile before excusing herself and hurrying out into the foyer, closing the dining room door behind her.

His feet hit the foyer floor at the moment that she threw herself into his arms.

"Severus, Severus, I'm so sorry!" she said, hugging him as tightly as she could.

Severus took hold of her upper arm and held her away from him. "Hermione," he said sternly gesturing toward the top of the stairs with his free hand, "do you have something you wish to tell me?"

She looked up into his forbidding face and quailed a bit, casting about wildly in her mind for the cause of his anger. A premonition came to her.

"Perhaps...perhaps you've noticed a few changes around the house?" she suggested timidly.

"A few _changes_?" he repeated incredulously. She called being pregnant with his child a change around the house?

"Well, Gilderoy Lockhart did it," she explained helpfully.

His face went a shade paler and his eyes darkened from ebony to pitch. Through clenched teeth, he said, "Gilderoy Bleeding Lockhart did WHAT, exactly?"

At that moment, a strangled sound, quickly muffled, came from the stairway. Whirling, with his wand at the ready, Severus saw a tottering Gilderoy Lockhart weaving down the stairs. With an oath, he grabbed Lockhart by the front of his robes and jerked him down the last several steps, then thrust him brutally into the sitting room before pointing his wand and snarling, " _Expelliarmus_!"

Lockhart's wand shot into the air and Severus caught it effortlessly, his own wand now pointed at Lockhart's chest.

Lupin came barreling out of the dining room, his wand at the ready, with Tonks right behind him. When they saw the desperate ruffian Severus had pinned to the sitting room floor, Lupin pocketed his wand and took his fiancée by the arm. "I think Severus can handle this, love. Let's finish our soup."

Tonks allowed herself to be led away, though she was still craning her neck for a better look at the culprit before Lupin closed the dining room door.

"What are you doing in my house?" Severus asked quietly, his lips barely moving as he spoke to the wizard sprawled at his feet.

Hermione was feeling really frightened now. She walked up to her husband and placed a hand on his arm. "I only let him do it because of your Great Aunt Seraphina," she said.

Severus slowly turned his head and the full force of his piercing eyes to Hermione. "Do me the courtesy of explaining yourself," he snapped.

"I will, but please let Mr. Lockhart up," she replied with as much dignity as she could muster.

Lowering his wand, Severus glared at Lockhart and jerked his head toward the sofa. Lockhart gratefully scrambled up onto the couch, keeping an anxious eye on the devil with the wand.

Bravely, Hermione sat down on the settee across from Lockhart. "Please have a seat, Severus," she said.

Feeling the situation somehow getting away from him, Severus threw himself into one of the armchairs. With a sudden frown, he stroked his hand appreciatively along the grain of the leather. "This is exquisite," he murmured, distracted.

"Thank you," Gilderoy said, his grievances forgotten in a moment of professional pride.

The corner of Severus' mouth spasmed for a moment as understanding began to dawn upon him. Addressing Hermione, he said, "I take it my great aunt invited Lockhart to redecorate for us?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. I thought...I thought you might not like it, so I was going to tell you after it was all completed."

One eyebrow quirked.

"I didn't know how to tell her no – your Great Aunt Seraphina is ..."

"...scary," Lockhart breathed, just as Severus said, "...a force of nature."

Hermione nodded. "Yes. Both of those things."

Severus leaned towards his bride. "You haven't been forgetting to take your potion?"

Hermione turned innocent brown eyes on him. "No. Why?"

Severus closed his eyes and sagged in his chair. "Oh, the fully furnished nursery upstairs just made me wonder," he told her, fighting the laughing fit he felt coming on.

Hermione began to giggle. "Your great aunt insisted – she said we'll need it sooner or later, so we might as well furnish it now."

Severus reached out a hand to her and she came into his lap, their captive audience all but forgotten. Wrapping one hand around the back of her neck, he looked deeply into her eyes. "She's right. We will need it – sooner or later."

He was watching, with deepening interest, the spread of the flush from her throat to her cheeks, when a low, feral growl sounded behind him. He and Hermione turned in time to hear a snarling hiss and to see a blur leap over them, land on Lockhart, push off to the floor, and streak up the stairs in a rush of claws and cat fur.

At the same instant, they heard the sound of a glass smashing on the stone hearth.

"Oh no!" Hermione jumped up, followed by Severus, and both of them had their wands pointed at the precise spot where the shattered crystal flagon bloomed into Rita Skeeter.

"If it isn't the happy couple," Skeeter said snidely, crossing her arms and glaring at the Snapes.

Gilderoy peeked around Severus and saw the platinum haired reporter with her jeweled spectacles and her long red fingernails standing on the hearth. "My word!" he said, deeply impressed. "Why, you were the bug in the jar!"

Skeeter stared at Lockhart, her mouth dropping open. "Gilderoy Lockhart! It _is_ you!"

Hermione and Severus exchanged looks as they watched this by-play.

Lockhart made a little bow to Skeeter, who actually simpered. "I'm afraid you have the advantage of me, dear lady," he said gallantly.

"This is Rita Skeeter, Mr. Lockhart," Hermione said. "She's a ... a journalist."

Lockhart pressed a kiss to Skeeter's hand. "I am honoured to meet you, madam. I have long admired witches in your profession."

Hermione was biting her lip, but Severus was looking quite thoughtful.

Skeeter was looking at Lockhart as if he were the _Playwitch_ pinup, which wasn't far wrong, really; he _had_ won the _Witch Weekly_ Most Charming Smile Award, after all. Lockhart was preening himself under Skeeter's blatant admiration. This could be the answer to their bug problem.

"So, Miss Skeeter, what's it to be?" Severus said softly.

All three of his auditors looked at him questioningly.

"The time has come for decision making," he continued, his unrelenting stare fixed on Skeeter's face.

Skeeter blanched; this man was scary. "I don't know what you mean," she said, her shifty eyes seeking out an avenue of escape.

"Let me make myself plain," he said menacingly. "You threatened my wife, under Veritaserum and in writing. That is inexcusable." Skeeter was looking more panicked by the moment; Lockhart, on the other hand, had lost interest in the conversation. He was now admiring his reflection in the mirror over the fireplace and passing under review in his mind the myriad of qualities he possessed that would engender such admiration as Rita Skeeter's from all members of the fairer sex.

"I am not an unreasonable man, Miss Skeeter," Severus said gravely. "I will allow you to choose your own fate."

Skeeter looked momentarily hopeful. The expression on Snape's unyielding face sobered her immediately.

"Your choices are as follows, Miss Skeeter:

"You may turn yourself in to the Ministry of Magic officials currently dining in the next room and confess that you are an unregistered Animagus; I'm sure that your time in Azkaban would be suitable to the crime."

Severus paused a moment to allow his words to sink into her tiny beetle brain. When he felt that she had processed the information, he continued.

"Or, you may transfigure yourself back into a beetle, at which point I will bind you in that form until your death."

Severus allowed the last word to roll off his tongue with relish; he wanted it to be the one word that Skeeter remembered from that particular option.

"Or, you can choose my personal favourite – I can do the world an immense service by ending your pathetic excuse of a life right now."

As he spoke these words, his wand hand shifted position ever so slightly, so that the wand pointed directly at her heart. The smile on his face was terrible to see; in that instant, Hermione recognized in him the Death Eater he once had been.

For a moment she thought her courage would fail her, then her absolute faith in her husband reasserted itself, and she rallied, shifting her own wand in concert with his. When they each felt her energy join with his in the unity of their combined power, neither of them could deny the moment of shining rapture that passed between them.

Skeeter cowered from the joint threat standing before her; she was so distraught that she almost missed Snape's next words.

"Or, Miss Skeeter, you can accept a position in a magically binding contract as Gilderoy Lockhart's assistant and biographer. This may well be the best offer you will ever have in what remains of your so-called life."

The relief with which Skeeter greeted this last offer brought her to her knees in a swoon; even Lockhart was aware of her weakened state, and he solicitously helped her move to the sofa. He was chafing her hands and suggesting that Hermione pour out a bit of brandy for her to swallow when Skeeter pushed him away and said, "The last one, Snape. I'll take the last one."

Gilderoy was quite pleased to find out he was to have an assistant, as well as a biographer. He willingly shook Skeeter's hand as the Snapes used their wands to seal the binding contract. He then had his own wand returned to him by that scary devil-looking fellow, and Madam Snape, who bade them return on Monday afternoon for a meeting regarding the remaining work to be done on the house, escorted him and Skeeter from the house.

It was a giddy Hermione and an indulgent Severus who joined their guests for what was left of their dinner party. Too much wine was drunk and much laughter rang out over the table. When at last the door to Enchanté was closed behind their friends, the Snapes were very pleased with the results of their first foray into entertaining.

Severus and Hermione collapsed side by side on the newly recovered sofa and exchanged grins.

"Let's _not_ do that again real soon, hmm?" Severus said, pulling his wife against his chest. Hermione murmured her agreement and cuddled up to him. In the quiet moments that followed, Crookshanks sauntered into the room and jumped onto the sofa, stepping into Hermione's lap before curling up like a furry ginger cushion. From the other side of the room, Bast approached, leaping lightly into Severus' lap and beginning to clean herself. Each of the cats behaved as if the other were not present.

Severus stared at Crookshanks, as Hermione stared at Bast.

"When did..."

"How..."

They gaped at one another, speechless.

Nervously, Quirk sidled into the room. "Quirk is apologizing to Master for interrupting," he said, bowing low. Without waiting for a response, Quirk continued, "Quirk is telling Master and Mistress that the kitties have been very, very bad."

Quirk stared at the floor, not daring to raise his eyes.

Severus held up one hand. "Quirk, do you have somewhere you can go?"

Quirk looked up with terror in his elf eyes. "Master is not giving Quirk CLOTHES!"

Severus interposed before the elf could work himself into hysterics. "No, Quirk, Master wants to spend the weekend alone with Mistress. Can you go somewhere, please?"

Quirk cocked his head to one side. "Master is not angry that the kitties make babies?"

Severus sighed. "Let us say that Master is not angry with Quirk because the, erm, kitties make babies."

Quirk nearly bounced with happiness. "Quirk can go away for the weekend, Master. Quirk will come back for Monday morning breakfast."

With a loud "pop," Quirk Disapparated.

Hermione wrinkled her nose at Severus. "Where are we going to send the cats?" she asked him, playfully.

"The cats are on their own," he replied, gently moving Bast off his lap and standing. Hermione followed suit with Crookshanks, and for a moment, they stood and watched their familiars staring in opposite directions as if they had never met.

"Let's go practice making babies," Severus suggested, taking her hand.

"But I don't _want_ babies right now," Hermione objected, following him to the stairs.

Severus scooped her into his arms and gazed down into her eyes. "As Great Aunt Seraphina says, you _will_ want babies, sooner or later – and as your husband says, practice makes perfect."

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

Master of Enchantment

Book 4

A Hallowe'en Tail

Another term was well underway at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Halloween was drawing nigh.

It was true enough that the first years would never know the demon the older children had stigmatized as the Great Bat of the Dungeons, and even those who had Known-Him-When were highly doubtful of the milder version of Professor Snape continuing for very long. He was still an exacting taskmaster, a harsh marker, a stern disciplinarian, but the maliciousness seemed to be gone from his snarky nature. To be sure, he was quick to punish misbehaviour in his classroom, and only a fool would act up in his presence outside of his classroom – but his solitary prowls about the castle in search of miscreants had diminished to his actual assigned patrols, and if it could not be said that he no longer favoured his own House in distributing points, it was fair to say that he also no longer was apt to deduct points from hapless Gryffindors for offences such as "breathing too loudly." It was widely known amongst the upper years and whispered amongst the lower years, that the reason for this was that his new wife was a former Gryffindor prefect and Head Girl. That Madam Snape was fast friends with Gryffindor Head of House, Professor McGonagall, was a widely known fact. Even if Professor Snape's pretty bride was not present to witness the unfair deduction of points, she would find out from her friend and take it up with her husband.

Peace unparalleled in the last twenty years was reigning in the dungeons. Perhaps it was a bit much to ask that it last?

The battle had been raging for days. The Ministry was having a Halloween costume party on Wednesday night and Hermione was determined to attend. She worked for the Ministry now, and she was ambitious enough to want to see and be seen by those who might prove to be useful to her in her career. Besides, she thought it might be fun, and she wanted to have some fun with her husband – whether he liked it or not.

"I am not attending a _costume_ party."

Only Severus could say 'costume party' in such a way that he made it sound like a filthy swearword.

"Call it a masked ball, then," Hermione cajoled.

Severus sniffed scornfully without looking up from his newspaper.

"I would hate to have to go without you."

The withering glare she received for this comment was met by her sweetest smile.

* * *

Bast paced the floor from the study door to the bedroom door and back, moving ponderously on her elegant little feet. Her swollen, kitten-filled belly swayed just slightly as she walked. The room was completely dark, but she moved through it with the ease of long familiarity, back and forth, from the bedroom door to the study door and back again.

Crookshanks, who was curled up on the sofa, jumped to the floor and sat for a moment watching Bast as she made her trek from one door to the other and back. When next she lumbered past him, he leapt at her playfully, running across her path and nipping at her fur as he went by. With supreme disdain, Bast ignored him completely, undeterred in her mission.

On her next trip past him as he lay sprawled on the floor with his tail flicking back and forth in great annoyance, she simply made a detour, walking a broad swath around him before joining up with her established path in her restless quest.

* * *

Severus opened his eyes, slowly waking from a dream. Hazily, he wondered at the time. The candles usually illuminated in the mornings to let him know breakfast would soon be served in the Great Hall, and it was still dark. With an unspoken command, he lit the candles on his bedside table and ascertained that it was after seven – which meant it was Wednesday.

Dear Merlin, how he loved his Wednesdays.

On Wednesday, his first class was after lunch, and the two hours before lunch were his so-called 'office hours.' His own loose interpretation of this silly idea of Dumbledore's was, 'only have to be available if a student has made a specific appointment to see me' – which meant that he was free to spend his Wednesday mornings in bed with his bride – because who would voluntarily descend to the dungeons and subject themselves to the singular misery of extra time with the Potions master?

Rolling to his side, Severus feasted his eyes upon Hermione. She still slept, one hand beneath her cheek, her lips softly parted. The sheet had drifted down to her waist, and one full breast was bared. His morning erection expressed satisfaction with this development. With another unspoken spell, the sheet shifted again, so that both breasts were bare to his eyes as she slumbered on, unaware. He could imagine the weight of her breasts in his palms, the nipples hardening against the contact, yet he waited, looked without touching her, considering the palette of her skin – was it the porcelain of her face and breasts contrasting the rose of her lips and nipples? Or was it cream and coral?

His idle, lust-filled thoughts were interrupted when her eyes fluttered open, and she found him watching her with lascivious intent. Deliberately, she raised her arms above her head, stretching like a kitten as she arched her back and thrust her breasts in his general direction.

Dear Merlin, how she loved her Wednesdays.

Reacting predictably to her blatant provocation, Severus rolled over on top of her, grasping her outstretched arms just beneath her elbows and pinning them above her head before taking one inviting nipple into his mouth.

"Yessss, Severus," she sighed.

"It's Wednesday," he rumbled, releasing her nipple and happily rubbing the tip of his nose across the valley between her breasts.

"I know," she responded breathlessly.

He lifted his face to look into her eyes as he slid his hands up her forearms and twined his fingers with hers. As his palms pressed hers into the soft mattress, and his ebony eyes, burning with a dark passion that never failed to rouse her desire, bore into her eyes, the Enchantment worked its magic upon them, synchronizing their very heartbeats, each to the other.

Releasing her, Severus rolled away and picked up the wand on the bedside table. As he did so, raising himself to a sitting position, the bedclothes fell away from him, and Hermione was treated to the sight of his naked body. The black hair that brushed his shoulders fell forward into his face as he bent at the waist to retrieve his wand. Across his shoulders, the ripple of muscle that flowed with his movement was ineffably erotic to her; when he twisted back to face her, she raked her eyes down his lightly toned chest to the flat of his belly, then on to his proud erection, angling away from his body.

"Pet," he purred silkily, causing her to take her eyes from his endowments and return them to his face, "do you see something you want?"

Pushing herself up with her hands, Hermione nodded wordlessly and passed the tip of her tongue over her lower lip, never breaking eye contact as he sealed the bedroom door.

Hermione moved onto her knees and took his wand from his hand, reaching across him to place it back on the table. Then she pressed him back onto his pillow, moving to straddle his hips. With practiced ease, she settled herself; her own groan of satisfaction was echoed by the sharp intake of his breath. With a smirk, he watched her through half-lidded eyes.

Hermione proceeded in unhurried rhythm, rising and falling with a languorous, rocking motion – gripping and releasing, gripping and releasing. Severus watched as she ran her hands across her breasts. Her dark hair tumbled in total disarray down her back; when she arched herself in that way, he could feel her hair caressing the tops of his thighs. The sensation, in combination with her sensual display, was almost unbearably titillating for him. Taking matters into his own hands, he grasped her hip with one hand, holding her as he plunged repeatedly into her heat, while using his other hand to apply stimulation of a more direct sort to that bundle of nerves at the juncture of her thighs.

Her cries as she reached her completion made him glad for the umpteenth time that the complex Silencing Charm he had permanently placed on their bedroom kept her passionate reactions for him alone. Deftly tumbling her to one side, he covered her with his body and slammed back into her, his inflamed sensibilities drinking in her parted lips, her closed eyes, the tossing of her head from side to side on the pillows, her luscious breasts bouncing with every thrust of his hips – and he exploded, the compulsion to continue driving him until he could no longer move.

Slipping to one side of her, he pinned her to him with one arm, his gasping breaths stirring her hair. As his breathing returned to normal, Hermione curled into him, and he soothed her back to sleep with repeated caresses up and down her spine.

* * *

_Halloween, 1997_

_Severus patrolled the perimeter of the Great Hall with a nastier than usual sneer upon his lips._

_A Ball! A Halloween Ball! In the middle of a war, and what must the headmaster do but summon an orchestra and encourage the students in this mindless frivolity?_

_Abruptly he stormed through the entrance hall and outdoors, where Hagrid's enormous pumpkins had been set on the lawn, magically carved into jack-o-lantern faces on the front side. There were doors carved into the backs so that couples could enter and look out through the eyes, nose, and mouth of the gourds while no doubt getting up to unseemly shenanigans from within. After pausing by the doorway of each pumpkin house to strike terror into the souls of the fleeing students, and to deduct points in a frenzy of self-satisfaction, Severus veered over into the rose garden, where he routed some of the more determined snogging partners with a few hearty blasts of his foliage-destroying wand._

_The sight of a lone figure, sitting despondently on a stone bench near a fountain sporting an impromptu representation of a flock of swarming bats, brought him up short. The solitary person, who appeared to be female, was unaware of the havoc the Potions master had been creating as he chased the gropers and their accomplices back into the castle. As he crept closer, intrigued in spite of himself, Severus saw tears glittering upon the unblemished cheeks of the face lifted to the gibbous moon. A sliver of compassion, as unfamiliar as it was unwelcome, flashed through his neglected heart at the vision of innocence attended by desolation._

_A swiftly cast Disillusionment Spell and another step closer enabled him to clearly catch sight of the female's face. Granger. It was Hermione Granger, crying by the fountain, all alone in the damned Garden of Lurve. Where in the devil were Potter and Weasley? What were they about to leave their Best Friend to wallow in some sort of self-pity induced fit in the middle of a ball? Why wasn't she inside, dancing?_

_Circling her soundlessly, reckless in his invisibility, Severus allowed himself the liberty of looking at her in a way he never permitted himself with his students. That mass of brown hair was ruthlessly tamed into an elegant chignon, twisted up onto the back of her head. Her skin, as he had noted, was smooth and the expanse of her throat, as she tilted her head back and gazed tearfully at the stars, was disturbingly inviting – surely he did not wish to press kisses to that enticingly bare shoulder, displayed above the neckline of her formal dress robes of black velvet, and nibble his way up to lap the salty tears from her cheeks before devouring her mouth. He could not be experiencing so base a thought about a student!_

_...about a woman. His eyes drifted lower, to the cleavage, barely displayed but alluringly intimated by the proudly swelling breasts set above her small waist like twin temples of worship to the goddess of ..._

_...Teachers Eternally Damned For Desiring Their Students._

_It was the hitching sob that broke from her, quickly suppressed as she pressed her hands to her face, which caused the marriage of his unfortunate physical desire and his unwilling compassion._

_Inexorably crushing the nascent stirrings of attraction, he strode back to the castle entrance, removing the Disillusionment Spell as he went. Sweeping into the Great Hall, he spied Potter and Weasley sitting at one of the tables with other students gathered around them as Weasley told a Quidditch story._

_"I would like a word, Potter," he snarled, stepping back to an unoccupied spot against the stone wall. Potter approached him warily._

_"I suppose you know what you are about, Potter, but I hardly think that having the brains of the Dream Team sobbing in the rose garden is conducive to the success of the Order," he hissed._

_Potter blanched, then turned on his heel and walked towards the doors._

_Satisfied that his errand had been accomplished, Severus slipped out a side door and made his way to the dungeons, finding that he had no stomach for watching Potter bring Granger back into the Great Hall to be danced with by the male population of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. The Hufflepuffs were intimidated by her intelligence, and the Slytherins would never be seen with a Mudblood. But there were plenty enough of the bloody berks to have their hands on the skin he would never touch, holding the body his arms would never know, having the breasts he longed to feel pressed to his bare chest ogled by schoolboys without a clue. No, he would not be in the Great Hall again this night._

_He spent the next three hours in front of the fire in his quarters, drinking too much brandy and not reading the book of Dickens opened in his lap. When the fire died down to embers and the brandy bottle was diminished to a dribble, he threaded his unsteady way through the dungeon corridors to his classroom with but one purpose in mind. Fumbling his way through the doorway, he staggered over to the row of cauldrons from the NEWT class and unerringly placed his hand on Miss Granger's. Curled at the bottom of the cauldron was a hair ribbon in crimson and gold, waiting for her next time in the classroom. She used the ribbon to hold the unruly curls away from her face when she toiled over her brewing under his watchful eye._

_Nicking the ribbon from the cauldron and stowing it safely in his pocket, he wove his way back to his quarters, where he hid the ribbon behind the largest tome on the highest shelf of his bookcase before passing out on his bed._

* * *

They woke again after ten, and he allowed her to lure him into the shower with her. As was their custom, she washed him with the spicy smelling liquid bath soap he had grudgingly agreed to use, and he returned the favour, scratching her back with his fingernails as he washed her, smiling as she squirmed and murmured as if he were caressing her genitals rather than scratching her back.

She turned then and pressed her back against the tile as she offered her front for washing. Severus noted her come-hither look and chuckled. Stepping in close to her, he penetrated her folds with one finger, simultaneously pinching one nipple.

"What is it, Pet? Has it been forty-five minutes?"

She moaned and spread her thighs to allow him better access. Severus slipped a second finger in to join the first and lowered his mouth to her neck, biting gently and suckling her wet skin as the warm water cascaded over them.

Hermione luxuriated in her two deepest pleasures at once, insensate with bliss as the steamy water pelted her skin and the magic man worked his sorcery on her willing body with his masterful touches, pinches, strokes, licks, and bites. There was nothing more sublime than to be finger-fucked in the shower by the sexiest man alive. At that moment, he growled into her ear, "Come for me, Pet," then captured her lips, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as his fingers plundered her depths and his thumb made one last trip in its circle around her clitoris. Moaning her orgasm into his mouth, her muscles shuddered one last time on his fingers before he withdrew them and put them in his mouth, holding her gaze as he sucked his fingers. She sagged against him then, and he turned her so that her back was pressed to him as he finished bathing her.

They stepped out of the shower into the humid bathroom, and he took a forest green towel from a shelf, wrapping it tenderly about her body, this body that she entrusted to him along with her very soul, completely and without reservation. It struck him anew what a miracle she was, and he vowed to himself again that she would have everything she wanted, all that she deserved, whatever it was in his power to procure for her.

He preceded her back into the bedroom and began to pull clothes from the wardrobe. She followed him, meaning to go past him, but as she came up behind him, he turned and clasped her wrist.

"All right. But I am _not_ wearing a costume."

With a gratified smile, Hermione rewarded him with a kiss and a brief hug before sitting down at her mirror to deal with her hair.

* * *

Severus and Hermione sat across from one another at their tiny kitchen table and watched Bast in her migration from the study door to the bedroom door and back again.

"I forgot about that," Hermione murmured.

Severus stalked into his study, carefully stepping over the furry ginger cushion that kept moving from place to place on the sitting room floor, but always placing itself squarely in Bast's pathway. "Why don't you _move_?" he muttered in irritation.  
Crookshanks feigned deafness and tracked Bast's progress with his baleful yellow eyes.

Returning to the table, Severus smacked the calendar from his desk on the surface between them.

"What's the usual gestation period?" Hermione asked.

Severus consulted the notes he had jotted to himself in the calendar margin. "Fifty-seven to sixty-nine days."

"And how long – "

Severus flipped the pages back to August. "Assuming she caught on the night of the dinner party, it's sixty-eight days today."

Hermione touched the back of his hand. "The animal Healer wasn't sure how the addition of the Kneazle blood would affect the length of the pregnancy," she reminded him.

"Why is she _pacing_ like that?" he blurted, inwardly dismayed at this show of concern for a housecat.

"Well," Hermione said, standing, "I think it might be because of her nest."

"Her what? She isn't a _bird_ , Hermione."

Hermione took his hand and led him to the cupboard in the bedroom where the linens were stored. "The last weekend that we spent at Enchanté, when we left the cats here, this cupboard door was left ajar. While we were gone, Bast got up onto the top shelf and shredded the cardboard box full of my grandmother's hand embroidered tea towels."

Severus looked at the shredded mess that had previously been the top of a cardboard box.

"Why? She was never destructive before," he said in confusion.

"She was making a place to have the kittens – the book says that it is quite common for the mother cat to make a nest in a safe place. Unfortunately, Bast has been too big and heavy to get back up here, so she has no nest."

With a muttered oath, Severus reached up and lifted the ruined box, full of soiled hand-embroidered tea cloths, now covered in tattered cardboard remnants. He removed the keepsakes from the box, then pointed his wand at the bed and said, " _Accio_ my pillow." When the pillow zoomed into his hands, he stuffed it into the box, shrinking it to make it fit properly. Last, he put the slivers of cardboard back on top of the pillow, increasing the amount of cardboard to a fluffy pile.

He performed this task with grim concentration. As Hermione watched him, a wave of intense love for him washed over her with such force that it took all of her resolution not to cry.

Severus stood with the re-created "nest" in his hands and turned to scowl at his wife. "Where would she consider a safe place? One that she can still reach?"

Hermione led him into his study and moved his chair from its place behind the desk, indicating the space below. "This is enclosed on three sides, and she associates this room almost exclusively with you. Maybe this will do."

Severus knelt and pushed the box into place. Standing again, he went into the sitting room and scooped up his familiar, holding her with utmost gentleness as he carried her into the study and crouched to place her on top of her chosen nest.

"This is your place," he told her conversationally, one long fingered hand stroking her amazingly soft fur. "You will be safe here, and no harm will come to you."

Bast purred and butted his hand with her head.

Severus stood and stalked back into the sitting room, where he glared down at the imitation furry cushion on the floor.

"This is all _your_ fault," he said severely, before leaving to teach his afternoon class.

Crookshanks had the grace to look ashamed.

* * *

As they had agreed, Hermione checked back in on Bast hourly, expecting her to deliver the kittens at any time. As the afternoon went on, she became somewhat alarmed – how could she get Severus to attend the party that night if he was concerned about Bast? She considered asking Minerva to come sit with the nesting mother, but tonight was the Hogwarts Halloween Feast, so all of the professors would be busy.

When the perfect solution dawned on her, she was surprised that it had taken her so long to think of it.

* * *

Severus entered his quarters after his last class, wondering why half a day of work made him as tired a full day of classroom time. Reflecting on how he had spent the first part of his day, he concluded it was no wonder he was tired.

He did not see Hermione in the sitting room, so he went into the study to check on Bast. As he rounded the corner of the desk and crouched to see the cat, he was startled to see the unmistakable form of a house-elf under the desk. The elf was speaking softly to Bast and holding a dish of water from which she lapped delicately.

"Quirk?" he said incredulously.

Quirk started and spilled some water, which he immediately mopped up with a handy housekeeping spell.

"Master surprised Quirk!" he gasped.

"How is she?" Severus asked.

"Kitty is fine, Master," Quirk reassured him. "Quirk is sitting with kitty and watching kitty all the time Master and Mistress is at the party."

Severus nodded and stood. "Good. I am very pleased."

Quirk's elf heart swelled almost to the bursting point at this mild praise and he promised himself he would earn the enormous trust placed in him by his master.

Severus strolled into his bedroom, where he found Hermione applying cosmetics before her vanity mirror. Hanging on the front of his wardrobe was a garish black satin cape lined in red silk.

"I am _not_ wearing **that** ," he said darkly.

Hermione smiled at him in the mirror, intent on her mascara. "I don't know why not, Severus. It's a perfectly decent cape, made of the finest materials – I chose them myself. You can wear it over your usual clothes. It will hardly be like wearing a costume at all."

He took a step closer to her, glaring dangerously. "Do you think that I am unaware of what this garment signifies?" he demanded.

Hermione recapped her mascara and picked up her eyebrow pencil. "Of course I don't think that, Severus. Students were still taking bets on whether or not you were a vampire when I left school," she said calmly.

"I will not play into that preposterous rumour!"

Hermione recognized the danger signs and put down the cosmetic before walking up to him to place her hands on his chest.

"I would never ask you to do something that would expose you to the least ridicule," she said, gazing into his eyes, all but inviting him to probe her mind to ascertain her sincerity.

His ruffled feathers were quickly soothed. "Thank you," he said stiffly.

He looked down at the flimsy garment she was wearing. "What is that supposed to be?"

She stood back from him and turned about, allowing him to see her from all angles. "It's a Muggle ball gown from the Napoleonic era," she explained. "You know, Severus, if you don't wish to wear the vampire cape, you could dress to match me."

He raised a sardonic eyebrow. "How would I do that?"

"Well," she said, turning from him and going to open his wardrobe, "I thought it might be important for you to have a variety to choose from." She reached to the far side and extracted a British Naval uniform, circa 1805. Severus, with an interest in all things from the nineteenth century, was intrigued.

The coat was black! How strange. The epaulettes on the shoulders were gold, as were the polished buttons; Hermione had even provided the white linen shirt and black cravat of the naval officer of the time. He came to a decision.

"I will wear it."

She pulled out a tricorne hat in black with gold trim on the upper edges.

" _That_ I will not wear; I will, however, carry it."

Hermione bestowed on him a radiant smile. "You will be the most distinguished man present," she assured him as she danced off to finish her own dressing.

* * *

Leaving Quirk with careful instructions on how to watch over Bast in their absence, Professor and Madam Snape Apparated to the Ministry Atrium, using the coordinates provided on their formal invitation. Waiting attendants took their cloaks in an anteroom and bowed them onto the landing above the Atrium proper, where more flunkies in the costumes of the nineteenth century were announcing each couple in the character of their chosen masquerade as they entered.

There were two other couples ahead of them as they entered the Atrium. Severus took the opportunity to look about the room in some surprise. It had been transformed for the night into a marble-floored ballroom, complete with crystal chandeliers. Tables covered in snowy napery dotted the room; an orchestra played on a raised dais. A champagne fountain flowed on one refreshment table, and an opulent selection of wines resided on another. The only concession to Halloween was the decor of the tables, with tastefully carved pumpkins glowing with candlelight set in the center of each table.

"The Ministry has outdone itself tonight," he commented.

He was completely oblivious to the stir Hermione and he created when they stepped to the top of the staircase; his striking figure, wearing the replica of Admiral Lord Nelson's full regalia in black and white with gold accents, complemented by Hermione in her gold silk ball gown, was stunning. Hermione was aware that all eyes were upon them, and she regarded her tall, dignified husband with undisguised pride. He had even permitted her to tie his hair back with a neat black riband, à la Nelson. He was magnificent.

Severus glanced at her and saw the unconditional admiration in her eyes. For an instant, he toyed with the idea of seeing himself through her eyes for just this one night and allowing himself to believe he was the man she thought him to be. Briefly, his mind flashed on the memory of that Halloween Ball so many years ago, when she had cried in the garden, unpartnered and unhappy. She had been his unattainable dream on that night, and now she was his.

As if no one else were in the room, he raised her hand to his lips. "Tonight, my Pet, you will dance every dance if you wish to do so. I will partner you, or you may dance with other men, providing they are properly respectful. Enjoy your ball."

Hermione gazed up into his eyes with complete adoration. "You are stupendous, Severus. It makes me want to shag you on the dance floor."

The corner of his mouth twitched into half a smile, as he pulled her hand through the crook of his elbow. "That also can be arranged," he told her, as the footman announced, "Admiral Lord Nelson and Lady Emma Hamilton."

* * *

Quirk looked longingly at the door through which Master and Mistress had disappeared, cheerfully instructing him to "look after things." He had tried to tell Mistress that he didn't know anything about birthing babies, but she had given him a pat on the shoulder and assured him that Kitty might not have babies while they were gone. Quirk sincerely hoped Mistress was correct, because whatever _did_ happen would be Quirk's responsibility. It was true enough that other house-elves served Quirk's family when they were living at Hogwarts – and why they would want to stay in the gloomy old castle when Quirk kept things so nice at Enchanté he would never understand – but as long as Quirk was present in Master's _other_ home, he was responsible for it, too.

With these serious thoughts in his mind, Quirk was quite surprised when Bast stepped onto his knee and then leapt heavily down to the floor. The black Siamese cat, hugely pregnant, walked out of the study and resumed her pacing walk across the sitting room floor. Quirk followed after her, determined to keep an eye on her.

* * *

Hermione was having a lovely time. After dancing the waltz with her husband, she permitted him to seek out liquid refreshment and quiet conversation while she plunged into the crowds standing about the refreshment tables and chatting. Penny Clearwater spotted her and waved her over to meet two other researchers from their department, young men called Simon Lewis and Peregrine Smith. Penny and Hermione inspected one another's costumes minutely and complimented each other on their cleverness. Penny's eyes strayed to where Severus was engaged in conversation with Kingsley Shacklebolt and she said, "How did you _ever_ get him into costume? He looks smashing."

Hermione giggled. "Well, it's black, you see..."

A rash of Weasleys were announced, all at once, and Hermione saw the red-headed contingent, along with Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood, sweep down the staircase and into the crowd; soon afterward, she saw Arthur and Molly on the dance floor, dressed like a gangster and his moll.

"What in the world are they wearing?" Penny wondered out loud.

"Oh, it's Muggle stuff," Hermione said, smiling in appreciation as she watched the older couple dancing with such obvious enjoyment.

* * *

The person who was not watching Arthur and Molly with appreciation was their third son, Percy, who had come to the party stag and was now skulking about the punch bowl, annoying the secretarial pool. Between throwing looks of embarrassment at his mother and father, and casting glances of indignation and longing at Healer Penelope Clearwater, his one-time girlfriend and current boss, he puzzled over his current predicament. Why did she have to be so difficult? What had he ever done to earn her dislike? Surely she could not hold it against him that he broke off their relationship when he left school. Did she not realize that a man with aspirations to high office had to make sacrifices in his personal life if he wished to get ahead at the Ministry? Turning his back on the sight of Penny in conversation with Hermione, who had once been an agreeable and understanding ally in the battle to make sure that rules were obeyed and all things were done correctly, he stared out across the ballroom while trying not to make eye contact with any blood relatives.

Glaring at Percy from across the room was his youngest brother, Ron.

"What are you scowling at?" Harry demanded, thrusting a glass of champagne into Ron's hand.

"Percy. He's such a git."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, but why let it ruin your evening?" He surveyed his friend's Chudley Cannons Quidditch uniform. "You are aware that just about everyone else is wearing an historical costume?"

Ron took a swallow of champagne and made a face. "This is vile!" He glared at his half-empty glass and looked back over at the refreshments. "Don't they have firewhisky?"

Harry grinned. "Sure they do, but I picked up two glasses of champagne because I keep forgetting Ginny isn't drinking while she's pregnant. You got the spare."

There was a commotion at the staircase as another couple was introduced.

"The Musketeer Porthos and Lady Godiva!"

Ron choked. Harry poked him in the shoulder. "Okay, I get it; you hate the champagne. Go get something else to drink!"

"No, Harry, it's Viktor Krum!"

Harry looked up at the staircase with interest. "Yeah, that's Viktor."

Both of the young Aurors watched as Krum escorted his partner down the staircase. "Who's the woman?" Ron wondered.

"Dunno," Harry answered. "Is she really _naked_?"

"Who cares?" Ron responded, tracking Viktor's progress across the room, where the Minister for Magic was shaking his hand. "He is the greatest Seeker I have ever seen."

Harry spared his friend a glance. "Didn't you meet him at Hermione's wedding?" he asked curiously.

Luna loomed up behind them. "No, he was busy fainting," she said. "He doesn't really want to get married, but he won't say so." Then she turned around and walked away, into the crowd near the refreshment tables.

"Mate, you better go talk to her," Harry said, watching Luna disappear into the press of people.

"Nah, I've been talking to her for three months; she just won't believe me," Ron said, continuing to watch Viktor Krum and the nearly-naked lady.

"Well, come on, then, I'll introduce you to Viktor."

* * *

Dark clouds gathered over the sea to the west of the Scottish shore, and scuttled across the half-moon, darkening the sky. The wind whipped up, blowing the rain clouds inland, over the moors and into the mountains. The barometer began to drop.

* * *

Penny and Hermione watched Viktor introduce his date to the Minister for Magic.

"Is she _naked_?" Penny said in disgust.

Ginny Potter joined them, a glass of pumpkin juice in a champagne flute clutched in her hand. "No, it's a glittery body stocking and a really long wig – but she might as well be naked – look at the men."

The three young women watched in some fascination as the gorgeous, nearly-naked blonde woman began to work the room, starting at the top with the Minister for Magic and his department heads.

"What is Viktor even _doing_ here?" Hermione said. "He doesn't work for the Ministry of Magic."

Ginny snorted. "Can you believe Bulgaria has appointed him a goodwill ambassador?"

Penny sighed soulfully, her eyes glued to the Quidditch player in the musketeer costume. "Why not?" she breathed. "I'm feeling loads of goodwill right about now."

Hermione and Ginny began to laugh.

"What?" Penny demanded, laughing with them, her cheeks charmingly flushed.

* * *

Quirk was roused from a slight doze when Bast suddenly emitted a blood curdling, low-pitched howl that went on forever. Leaping to his feet, his rushed up to her, but she continued her pacing, uninterrupted.

"Don't cry, Kitty!" Quirk said, wringing his hands. "What does Kitty want? Quirk will get it!"

Bast paid him no mind, but continued her pacing, letting out a steady stream of throaty calls as she went.

* * *

Severus looked out over the crowd and saw Hermione giggling with her friends. All was well with her, but he was feeling quite thirsty. He snagged a glass of firewhisky from a tray and continued his exploration of the tables. Spotting a couple of familiar faces, he approached their location with a wicked smirk.

"Nice long bow," he commented, interrupting Lupin, whose nose was buried in Tonks' soft hair. Severus slipped into a seat across from them.

"We've been admiring your knee breeches from afar," Lupin shot back at him, his topaz eyes gleaming with laughter.

Severus glanced down at the skin-tight buff-coloured bottom portion of his costume. "I think they suit me," he agreed, "but I do hope that you mean Nymphadora was the one admiring my knee breeches, and not _you_ , Lupin."

'Dora gave him a derisive look before standing. "I'm going to go chat with the girls," she said, and dropped a kiss on Lupin's cheek before moving away from them.

Severus sipped his firewhisky and surveyed Lupin from head to foot. "Who are you supposed to be? Robin Hood?"

Lupin snatched the tell-tale hat from his head and dropped it to the table top. "Better than the Sheriff of Nottingham," he retorted. "Where is your tricorne, Lord Nelson?"

Severus lounged back in the chair and tapped his temple with a finger. "I had the foresight to leave it with the helpful people who took my cloak when I arrived."

Lupin nodded appreciatively. "Good thinking."

Severus held up his empty glass. "I think, if we are going to sit about in these clothes, we are going to need additional alcohol."

Lupin stood with alacrity. "That is too damn true. Come on, I know where they're hiding the good stuff."

* * *

Harry stepped up to Viktor and slapped him on the shoulder. Viktor turned, the smile of the practiced diplomat on his face, but when he saw Harry, he broke into a grin.

"Harry!" he exclaimed, giving him a manly one-armed hug. "How is Ginny?"

Harry grinned back. "Ginny's great, Viktor, thank you for asking." He turned toward Ron. "I wanted you to meet Ginny's brother, my best mate, Ron Weasley."

Viktor good-naturedly shook hands with an awe-struck Ron Weasley. "I am pleased to meet you, Ron. You were indisposed at Hermy-own-ninny's wedding, yes?"

Ron flushed and the bonding began.

* * *

Tonks stomped over to where Hermione, Penny, and Ginny were talking to one another.

"She is all _over_ Remus. I want to hex her," Tonka gritted between clenched teeth.

Penny and Hermione regarded the Auror with some alarm, both of them trying to ascertain where she was hiding her wand in her Maid Marian costume.

"Get in line," Ginny said, her voice as hard as diamonds.

The other girls followed Ginny's glance; on the far wall, looking a bit like a niffler trapped in wand-light, was Harry Potter, in conversation with Viktor's party date, who kept stepping closer and closer to the Boy Who Lived.

Hermione swore and the other girls looked at her in surprise. "Why didn't he just bring a bloody Veela?" she said. "Viktor will hear about this from me." She put her champagne glass down on a table and squeezed Ginny's arm. "Don't worry, Gin, I'll take care of it."

Penny watched Hermione storm away and saw Professor Snape standing between Lupin and Harry against the wall. "Why didn't she rub herself all over Severus?" she wondered out loud.

Tonks snorted. "When she offered her hand to him and said her name, he looked at her as if she were something nasty on the bottom of his shoe." Imitating Severus' precise tones with some accuracy, Tonks said, "Miss Howatch, I had little interest in shaking your hand when you were melting cauldrons and finishing each academic year at the very bottom of the least impressive Hufflepuff class to grace Hogwarts in this century. I have even less interest in doing so now."

Penny and Ginny were in whoops as Tonks finished her story. "Then he looked her up and down as if she were naked and _still_ a crashing bore, before turning his shoulder to her and resuming his conversation with Remus."

Ginny literally laughed until she cried, a phenomenon which had been happening a trifle too often for her comfort. There were some things about pregnancy that she could _really_ do without. Excusing herself hurriedly, she fled up the staircase in search of some privacy.

* * *

Hermione walked up to Harry and all but shoved her way between him and the man-eater. "Harry, you're hogging Miss Howatch; you really mustn't do that!"

Harry gave Hermione a look of unmitigated relief and followed the path he had seen a distressed Ginny take a few moments before.

Hermione got a good look at Viktor's date. Surprisingly, the woman was closer to thirty than to twenty; that would explain why Hermione didn't remember her from Hogwarts. Putting on a confidential air, Hermione said, "I hope you don't mind, but someone has asked to meet you."

Arminta Howatch, who knew very well who Hermione was, latched onto her words eagerly.

"Oh, who is it?"

 _Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly,_ Hermione thought gleefully. "Well, he didn't want to put himself forward, you know; he is a very well-known man, and it just wouldn't do for him to make a stir."

Miss Howatch nodded. "Yes, of course – I understand!"

 _I doubt if you understood anything after about your second year at school,_ she thought to herself, guiding the other woman in the direction of the punch bowl. "I told him I would ask if you would care to be presented to him. Would you like to?"

Miss Howatch nodded so hard she would have dislodged her long blonde wig if it had not been spelled to her head.

* * *

Percy sipped morosely at his tenth cup of punch, standing all alone in a huge crowd of people. It really took some kind of talent to manage that, didn't it? He must be the great prat his brothers kept telling him he was. He might as well just go home and hang it up for the night; Penny was never going to speak to him now that she couldn't take her eyes off that Neanderthal Quidditch player.

At that moment, Hermione swept up to him, leading the impressive-looking blonde who had come in with Krum. The blonde was wearing very little with nothing underneath – what a little firecracker _she_ must be! To his amazement, the two women stopped in front of him. He put down the punch cup and made an effort to look less inebriated.

"Percy, I told Miss Howatch that you wanted to meet her, and she agreed to come speak with you. I've told her what an important man you are in our department here at the Ministry, and she's just dying to hear more about what you do!"

Percy could not prevent his mouth from dropping open as he heard Hermione's unblinking recitation of his qualifications. There, she _did_ admire him. And look at the big-breasted blonde! She admired him too! Percy's ego swelled back to its normal proportions as he undertook the task of entertaining the man-eating Miss Howatch.

Hermione walked away, quite satisfied that neither of them would bother anyone else for the rest of the evening.

* * *

Severus lounged against the wall with Lupin, sipping the good firewhisky and watching Hermione's handling of Miss Howatch with true appreciation. His delightful little wife was showing every indication of becoming as sinister as he was. He chuckled to himself.

His attention was distracted by a quick, " _Sonorus_ " as Cornelius Fudge began to address the guests.

"Good evening, and welcome to the Ministry of Magic Halloween Masque!" He smiled through the tepid applause. "We have here tonight, as our special guest, Viktor Krum, Seeker for the Bulgarian National Quidditch team, and goodwill ambassador for the country of Bulgaria." He smiled through the enthusiastic applause. "The Ministry wishes to extend its thanks to the tireless efforts of our coordinator of this event, Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart!" He stepped aside as a smattering of applause from the witches in the crowd – those who had never known Lockhart as a professor at Hogwarts – greeted the smiling Lockhart as he stepped up to the front of the dais.

Lockhart had surely outdone himself tonight. After using terrific personal restraint in his selection of appropriate decorations for the party, he had let himself go in designing and creating his costume for the evening. With a total lack of tact and the gall of ten spiteful men, he had the temerity to dress himself as Merlin the Magician, right down to the crest of Uther Pendragon which he wore on his over-robe.

Severus and Lupin exchanged disgusted glances. Severus allowed his gaze to wander to the orchestra, then back to Lupin. He cocked an eyebrow. Lupin followed his gaze back to the orchestra and an impish smile crossed his face. He and Severus stood as one. Severus crossed toward the back of the dais, signalling to the orchestra leader to step over and speak with him, while Lupin moved quietly through the crowd in search of his lady.

* * *

Quirk paced with Bast from the bedroom door to the study door, begging her to stop her distressing, plaintive cries. He dared not to touch her; Mistress had been very strict that he was not to constrain Kitty to do what she did not wish to do, but Mistress never said that Kitty was going to begin howling like a banshee, either.

Just when he thought matters could get no worse, the sound of a heavy object colliding with the door into Master's bedroom reached his keen ears. Quirk stopped pacing to stare at the bedroom door in horror as yet another heavy object was hurled at it from within.

Quirk looked at Kitty, who was walking and crying, just as she had been doing for quite some time, then back at the offending door. Mistress had not said to go into her bedroom. But Mistress also had not said there would be crashy-banging noises in that room. What if someone were **Moving Master's Personal Things**?

Quirk took a deep breath to firm his courage and snapped his fingers to move into the other room.

* * *

Tonks was whispering with Hermione when Lupin came up and touched her on the arm. Gilderoy Lockhart was extolling the virtues of the Ministry for Magic from the front of the dais.

"What is it?" she hissed at her fiancé.

He simply gave her that smile that turned her knees to jelly and led her onto the dance floor.

"But Lockhart is speaking!" she whispered in protest.

Hermione watched Remus and 'Dora go onto the dance floor, then leaned a bit to her right. Yes, that _was_ the top of Severus' head; he seemed to be in discussion with the orchestra leader. She watched as they appeared to come to an agreement; undoubtedly, gold had changed hands in the handshake that followed. Then he looked across the crowd, seeking her out, and walked straight to her, never taking his eyes from her face.

"...and my latest book, Magical Whee! A Witch's Guide to Entertaining is on sale in the ..."

Severus reached her and pulled her out onto the dance floor, a wicked gleam in his black eyes.

"What have you done?" Hermione whispered, as the orchestra began to play, and Lockhart's speech was drowned out. For a moment, the confused party planner tried to continue his sales pitch, but Lupin and Severus had pulled their women into tight embraces and begun to dance with them the moment the music began. Other couples, hearing the appealing tune and seeing the war heroes taking the floor, quickly turned their backs on the babbling boob with the bad dye job and joined the dance.

Severus held Hermione closely, his eyes riveted on her face, waiting for the realization to strike her. By the second bar of the song, she lifted her eyes to his, with such emotion in her face that he felt as if he had been given the greatest gift of all – making her happy.

"It's _Open Arms_ ," she murmured, in a voice full of wonder. Would this man ever stop amazing her? This taciturn, unpleasant, snarky bastard, who handled her as if she were made of porcelain, and who remembered the first song to which they had ever danced, was a closet romantic to the greatest degree.

"It's our song, isn't it, my Pet?" he murmured, pressing her yet closer to him, willing her to allow them both to be taken by the Enchantment for the duration of the song.

* * *

"Just _look_ at them," Rita Skeeter complained drunkenly to her companion. "I can feel the bloody Enchantment from here! You'd think they were in their own bedroom, at home. I'll bet he lifts her skirt and starts shagging her right there in the middle of the dance floor. Severus Sodding Snape can do no wrong; no, none at all," she finished with a sniff and another slug of gin.

"Who are you _talking_ to?" a peevish voice demanded.

Rita looked around owlishly, blinking her eyes behind her jewelled spectacles and trying to focus. "To my friend," she slurred, gesturing in the direction of the potted palm.

Gilderoy Lockhart looked to his left and his right to make sure she really had been speaking to the indoor plants again. "You spent too much time as a _bug_!" he spat at her, jerking his head in the direction of the lifts. "Come on, we're leaving."

Rita shrugged and tossed off the rest of her gin before hefting her handbag and wishing her friend a pleasant evening. It wasn't as if _she_ wanted to stay at the damn party. Not with the Snapes present. She'd rather sleep with Gilderoy Lockhart.

At that thought, she cast a longing look back over her shoulder to the indoor palm tree. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad being a bug after all – not if she could live with her friend, the tree.

Rita sighed and joined her incensed employer in the lift.

* * *

Penny crept up to the slightly duck-footed figure of Viktor Krum as he stood politely pretending to listen to the Minister for Magic. Viktor was aware of the movement at his elbow and looked down to find an exotic-looking girl in the outfit of a gypsy staring up at him. The riot of dark curls framed a face made up a bit garishly, in concert with the costume she wore, but the heavy cosmetics could not hide her brilliant eyes, her perfect, pert little nose, or her delightfully formed lips. The glimpse he caught of her figure in the provocative skirt, slit almost to the hip on one side, and the peasant blouse, pushed down onto her arms to show off her lovely white shoulders and her fascinating cleavage, caused a stir in his mind as well as in other places.

"Hi," he said softly, gazing into her eyes.

"Hi," she answered, gazing back. "I – I like your feather," she said inconsequentially, indicating the plume in the musketeer's hat he wore.

"It came vif the hat," he responded stupidly, wanting to kick himself for such an asinine reply.

There was a bit of a stir as the speeches were interrupted by the orchestra beginning to play a slow love song. He saw Hermione and Severus dancing. He offered his hand to the alluring creature. "I'm Viktor. Vill you dance vif me?"

She took his hand. "I'm Penny. Yes, please; let's dance."

Viktor smiled as he pulled her into his arms and out onto the dance floor.

* * *

Luna stood on her own, sipping a glass of pumpkin juice and contemplating the jack-o-lantern on the table before her.

Ron put his hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. "Come dance with me, love," he invited her.

Luna looked at him passively. "You loathe dancing. You said you loved me, and you wanted to marry me, but that you loathed dancing. Now I'm beginning to think that is the only true thing you said to me that night!"

Ron pulled her into his arms and swayed with her gently on the edge of the dance floor. "I hated dancing with my Auntie Muriel, and with Padma Patil, but I love to hold you in my arms," he told her.

"Just thinking about marrying me makes you want to faint," she said sadly, holding herself rigidly in his arms.

Ron tightened his hold on her, gently running one hand up and down her spine. "Thinking about being in the middle of a Gilderoy Lockhart _circus_ made me faint, love. It was pretty lame of me, and I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

Luna looked up into his sincere blue eyes. Now that he had eye contact, he pressed his advantage. "You know I love you, Luna. You know I need you; I want you for my wife. Please stop saying I don't."

Luna continued to search his face, then relaxed into his embrace. "All right," she said simply, and just like that, it was over.

Ron sighed in relief, then took the presented opportunity to lure his fiancée upstairs to a quiet alcove for a bit of a snog.

* * *

Harry finally found Ginny, sitting on top of a coffee table in a waiting room on the floor above the Atrium. She had a fist full of paper tissues, and her make up had run down her cheeks with her tears.

"Ginny!" he cried, rushing forward and dropping to his knees before her, grasping her hands and looking into her tear-drenched eyes. "What is it, love? Are you ill? Should I get your mum?"

Ginny sobbed a bit harder and made another futile attempt to stop the waterfall down her face. "I'm not s-sick," she said, "I'm p-p-pregnant! And, there's a pretty woman here!"

Harry pictured in his mind the ancient maps Professor Lupin had posted in his Defence classroom when Harry had been in his third year, the maps with naught past the edges of the known lands but legends which read, "Here There Be Dragons."

He felt quite certain that if he took a misstep now, he would fall from the jagged edge of the known lands into the treacherous territory of the dragons.

He took the paper tissue from her hand and deftly dried her tears, his brilliant green eyes looking tenderly into her face. "There is a beautiful woman here, love, and she is pregnant, too. In fact, she is you. Don't you know I only have eyes for you?"

Ginny did burst into tears then, quite properly, and tumbled into her husbands arms. Ron and Luna came into the room then, drawn by the sound of the crying.

"I'm taking her home now," he said quietly to them. "We're both pretty tired. Tell your mum, okay, Ron?"

Ron nodded as Harry cradled his wife and Apparated to their home, where he could demonstrate his regard for her beauty as she grew with their child.

* * *

Quirk was standing in Master's bedroom, looking for the cause of the disturbance, when a frantic Crookshanks thudded into him from behind, claws first.

"Ouch!" he cried, hopping back from the hissing cat. "Bad kitty! Don't scratch Quirk! Quirk is not doing bad things to you!"

From the other room, Bast's full-throated cries continued. Crookshanks once again thudded against the wooden door before turning imploring eyes on Quirk.

"Mistress says you is supposed to stay in here," Quirk told the angry orange creature. Crookshanks hissed at Quirk again and ran at him. Quirk snapped his fingers and returned to the sitting room.

* * *

The thunderstorm raging over Hogwarts blew itself out just before midnight, at which time Kitty stopped crying and went back to her nest. Quirk thankfully followed her, hoping that she would go to sleep now. Curling up next to Kitty's nest, Quirk settled in to watch over her.

* * *

Hermione slowly circled the dance floor in her husband's arms, remembering the first time he had held her this way, on the dance floor of the fancy hotel by the seaside where they had dined, and danced, and fought, before giving in to the Enchantment and letting their shared destiny assert itself in their lives. The words of the song were burned into her memory, so representative of her mind set as she had begun to succumb to the love that had begun the first time they touched.

Somehow, she was not surprised when he led her from the dance floor before the final verse was complete, down a darkened corridor, then down another, and into a room where he said " _Lumos_ " before closing the door and warding it behind him.

It was an unused office, bare of furniture save for a desk and a chair.

"Whatever are you up to now?" she asked, giving him a sly look from beneath her lashes.

"Did I not say it could be arranged?" he murmured against her hair, his lips finding and exploiting that sensitive spot just beneath her left ear.

She wrapped her arms about his waist, sliding her hands down to cup his arse, and she whimpered her approval for his plans.

He kissed her mouth, tugging her long skirt up, higher and higher. "Besides," he continued in that voice like chocolate caramel, "it's still Wednesday. If you don't get your Wednesday quota, you'll be off for the rest of the week." He dipped his head and roughly nuzzled a nipple though the silk of the gown, growling when he felt it harden, and biting at it through the cloth.

Hermione twined her hands in his hair, pulling it loose from the black riband, and gasped, "What's it to be? The desk? Or the wall?"

"Both," he snarled, lifting her the few steps to the desk before reaching down to release himself from the confines of his breeches.

"Hurry," she breathed, reaching for him with her arms.

* * *

Quirk woke up with a start, uncertain of what had woken him. There was Kitty, still in her nest ... but what were those little squeaky sounds?

Quirk snapped his fingers and produced more light under the desk; kitty meowed at him and blinked sleepy blue eyes against the brightness. Quirk paid no attention to kitty; he was staring into the nest in horror.

Rats! There was little rats in kitty's nest! Little black rats, little orange rats, little black and orange and white rats – rats in MASTER'S KITTY'S NEST. Quirk moaned out loud in his misery. Oh, Master would be so angry, but truly it was not Quirk's fault – he did not know where the rats has come from!

Quirk conscientiously offered kitty some water from her bowl, which she gratefully lapped up, as he tried to plan what he would say to Master about why kitty had rats in her nest.

* * *

It was a very happy, if quite tired, Professor and Madam Snape who came into their rooms at Hogwarts at nearly two in the morning. "Quirk?" Hermione called softly, as Severus illuminated the sitting room.

Quirk appeared in the doorway to the study, his eyes averted respectfully.

"What happened to you?" Hermione cried, kneeling down to inspect his scratches. "Did Bast..."

Quirk shook his head. "No, Mistress, it was the other kitty."

Severus slipped past them into the study, crouching down behind the desk. "Look, Hermione," he said in a gentle voice.

"I'll look after your scratches in a moment, Quirk," she said softly, before going to join Severus on the floor behind the desk.

"Hello, Bast," Hermione said, reaching out to stroke the soft black fur. "May I see your babies?"

"Five of them," Severus said. "Five."

"Quirk is being very, very sorry, Master."

Severus glanced at him, frowning. "Why, Quirk?"

"Quirk is not knowing how the rats got into the kitty's nest, Master," he explained tearfully. "Quirk fell asleep, and when he woke up, there was rats in the kitty's nest."

Severus bit his lip and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Hermione spoke before he could lose control of himself. "Quirk, this is what baby kitties look like when they are first born. They look, well, kind of like rats, and then very soon, they look like kitties. You did not do anything wrong."

Quirk was so relieved that he burst into tears. Hermione led him back into the sitting room where she healed his scratches, then sent him back to Enchanté with kind words.

She changed out of her ball gown and fixed two mugs of cocoa; when she joined Severus on the floor in the study, he had removed his coat and was stroking Bast, murmuring to her. Hermione provided them with cushions and a warm rug before curling up with her husband on the study floor.

"Five," he said, sipping meditatively on his cocoa.

"Think of it as life training," she suggested playfully, leaning her head on his arm.

"FIVE?" he said again, looking at her in horror.

"Well, hopefully we'll begin with one," she said, standing and holding out her hand. "Come to bed. Cats have been nursing litters of kittens for millennia without human intervention."

He stood and followed her willingly into the sitting room. "No bed yet, my Pet. First, I have something I want to show you."

She paused in the middle of the room as he opened a lower cupboard and brought out the Pensieve. From a high shelf, he moved a large tome and brought out a packet of letters, tied together with a faded ribbon in crimson and gold. He took his wand, and removing the silver strand of a memory, he placed it in the receptacle, then reached out his hand to her. When she joined him there, he said, "This is what happened four years ago, on Halloween night..."

* * *

A/N – The Sheriff of Nottingham crack was for all of you Alan Rickman fans out there. Quirk's remark about not knowing anything about birthing babies was a mild tribute to _Gone With the Wind_.

As a footnote, I must reference Book 2 of **_Master of Enchantment_** , _**Bast: Operation Kitty**_ (shades of Gilderoy Lockhart, saying, "See my published works.") Anyway, this is a passage from _that_ story:

_Hermione walked up to him and took the stack of letters, bound with a faded scarlet ribbon, from his hand. She stared at them, her finger tracing the gold threads in the grosgrain, then looked up searchingly into his face as she pushed on toward him._

_"These are the letters I sent you from Bulgaria… the ones you never answered."_

_Severus nodded mutely, seemingly embarrassed._

_"And this ribbon – I used it to tie my hair back in Advanced Potions… I thought I had lost it – I always kept it with my cauldron, and then it went missing one day."_

_Severus's pale face was flushing; his eyes were darting to the side, as if seeking out an avenue of escape. Hermione continued to advance on him, and he continued to retreat, until he felt the wall at his back._

_"You took my ribbon from my cauldron, didn't you? You took it in seventh year, before the night when we first touched –" she slapped the stack of letters against his chest, "you took it, and you kept it because you were already interested in me."_

_The limpid brown eyes gazing up into his discomfited face were like a catalyst; Severus pulled her against him with a jerk, and buried one hand in the tangle of curls pouring down her back. "What exactly is your **point**?" he demanded, fastening his own intense scrutiny on her parted lips._


	16. Chapter 16

Master of Enchantment

Book 5: The Christmas Rose

Chapter 1: Slamming

_Seven Weeks Before Christmas_

Severus Snape sat at the tiny table in the kitchen of his personal quarters at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, pertinaciously marking papers. Stubbornly, he refused to consult the watch in his pocket, reminding himself that it had not been so very long since the clock on the mantel in the sitting room had chimed nine o'clock.

He did not know why it was of such importance to him to see Hermione when he lifted his eyes from his task. He had spent more than forty-one years of his life without her constant presence, and he had been content to be alone. Now, after a mere few months of marriage, he found his evenings to be curiously empty if he could not glance across the table, or across the room, or across the pillows, and see his curly-haired bride.

His hand was in the unconscious act of reaching for his watch when he heard the door open, then close, and the unmistakeable sounds of Hermione's return. Snatching his hand away from his watch pocket, he continued with his marking. It was not until he saw her heading for the study rather than the kitchen that he cleared his throat to alert her to his presence, but he still did not look up until she spoke his name.

"Severus!" Hermione said, rounding the table and bending to wrap her arms about his shoulders from behind as she nuzzled his ear.

Severus turned his face then, his large, hooked nose gliding across her cheek before he tilted his head and spoke, his lips moving against hers with his words.

"Where have you been, young lady?"

Hermione ignored the question and took the kiss, twining the fingers of one hand in his end-of-the-day oily hair and cupping his evening-roughened cheek with the other. With a tender smile into his eyes, she released him and seated herself diagonally from him.

"Why are you doing your marking in here?" she asked.

"Because I find that I do not concentrate very well when attempting to mark papers in the midst of a bloody cattery," he replied dryly.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Are they that noisy?"

"No, but they are damnably constant. And there is also a house-elf living in my study."

Hermione nodded. "I thought it would be easier to have Quirk sleep in the study with the kittens than in another room," she commented.

There was a soft "mrow" and Bast's elegant little head suddenly protruded between the edge of the table and Severus' stomach.

Hermione laughed. "Bast isn't even in there with them?" she said, reaching out a hand to stroke the purring black cat.

"Well, can you blame her? They never stop that constant peeping noise and they nurse perpetually. I'm amazed that she hasn't just smothered them in their sleep."

As if realizing the topic of discussion, Bast leapt lightly down from her master's lap and sauntered across the sitting room and into the study. The sound of Quirk's squeaky voice speaking to the mother cat could be heard in the kitchen.

Hermione rubbed her face. "I am _so_ tired," she said.

"You worked late tonight," Severus commented, picking up his quill and appearing to focus his attention on the handwriting of some unfortunate Potions student. Actually, he was watching her face covertly from behind the curtain of his long hair.

She arched in her chair, pressing the knuckles of her fists into her lower back to massage her sore muscles. "Simon and I have been discussing the Christmas Rose Potion," she explained.

Severus bristled behind the screen of his ebony mane, but kept his voice devoid of emotion. "Someone was here, working with you?"

"No, we spoke by Floo. He has been trying to make the hellebore infusion but he keeps melting cauldrons."

"Is his last name Longbottom?" There was a definite dark pleasure in relieving some of the building spleen with a nastily placed shaft.

Hermione snorted in spite of herself. "No, his last name is Lewis – leave poor Neville alone, Severus!" When he wisely did not reply to this, she continued, "I think that it may be possible to charm the cauldron to hold the infusion of hellebore long enough to finish preparing it so that we can add it to the potion base." She sighed and stood from her chair, beginning to move toward the bedroom. "I'm going to meet with him and his partner, Perry Smith, in their lab tomorrow so we can try my idea."

Severus abandoned all pretence of marking schoolwork. "Perri Smith is a woman?"

Hermione glanced back at him. "No, _Peregrine_ Smith is the other researcher from my office to whom I introduced you at the Halloween Ball last week. Don't you remember?"

Severus busied himself re-capping the bottle of red ink and gathering his parchment into a neat pile. "You cannot expect me to recall the name of every tedious person you force me to greet at inane parties," he snapped. "Of what possible interest would such persons be to me?"

Hermione stared at him for a moment, a look of confused hurt marring her features. "My workmates would only be of interest to you if you cared what I do with myself all day long, Severus. I apologize for subjecting you to such tedious and inane company. I will endeavour not to do so in the future. I will just go to parties _without_ you!"

On this tearfully hurled threat, Madam Snape turned her back on her husband and hurried into their bedroom, allowing the heavy door to close behind her with a resounding slam.

Merlin's beard! Why could he not curb his disagreeable tongue? Now he had hurt her feelings, and she would expect him to apologize – but he was damned if he would! He spent too much of his time begging pardon for things he said to her. She was his wife, and he did not see why he should have to mind his words around her. This was his home, by the gods, and it was about time for his wife to begin to know who was the master here!

Storming into the sitting room, Severus snatched the brandy decanter from the shelf and poured some into a goblet, then settled onto the sofa before the fire and glared dangerously into its flames.

* * *

Two hours later, when he climbed into their bed beside her, she woke and moved pointedly away from him toward the edge of the bed. It was necessary for him to wait for her fall asleep again before he could pull her to him and go to sleep, as well.

* * *

Hermione seemed to float above him, just out of reach. She was at her most wicked and alluring, her dark eyes languorous in her desire, her full lips parted, with the tip of her little pink tongue barely visible to him. Her siren's call seemed to lure him on, inviting him to claim her, to take her – but every time he stretched for her she was just beyond the extent of his arms. She reached out then and stroked up the length of his erection; moving with mercurial speed, his fingers closed about her wrist…

…and he woke.

He was reclining on his side, his morning erection at odds with the headache just behind his eyes. He groped for his wand and muttered, " _Lumos_." Fumbling with his watch on the bedside table, he saw that it was nearly eight o'clock. His spirits immediately brightened; if his candles had not woken him for breakfast in the Great Hall, it could only mean today was Wednesday.

Dear Merlin, how he loved his Wednesdays.

A shameless smile graced his thin lips as he rolled toward Hermione; she deserved to be paid out for that bit of taunting in his dream.

It was not until he saw her empty pillow that he recalled the contretemps of the night before. A feeling of pique flashed through him, followed by an icy stab of fear. Throwing the covers from him, he surged to his feet, crossing to the bathroom in quick strides. A savage flick of his wand fully illuminated the rooms, but the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach had already informed him she would not be there, lounging in the bubble-filled bath, waiting for him to wake up and join her for Wednesday-type activities.

He burst through the bedroom door into the sitting room, barely pausing to glance into the kitchen before he bellowed, "Hermione!"

The door to the study rattled open and Quirk erupted into the room. When the sight of his fully enraged and entirely naked master met his eyes, Quirk quickly averted his face and squeaked, "Mistress is not being home, Master!"

"And where exactly _is_ Mistress?" Severus inquired in an alarmingly quiet tone.

Staring helplessly at his feet, Quirk replied, "Mistress says she is going to work at the other researcher's lab today, Master. Mistress is being gone to breakfast in the Great Hall."

Severus turned on his heel and strode back into his room.

"Then I, too, shall go to breakfast in the Great Hall."

"Yes, Master," Quirk said, though his words were drowned out by the slamming of the bedroom door.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall watched the silent young woman near the end of the table as she frowned at her bowl of porridge. Following Minerva's line of sight, Albus Dumbledore spoke to her quietly.

"I don't believe I've ever seen either of them at breakfast on a Wednesday morning."

"She isn't speaking to anyone, either," Minerva said. "Perhaps I should go sit with her?"

Albus placed a restraining hand on her arm. "I think we had best leave her to her own thoughts this morning."

Under their watchful eyes, Hermione stood and donned her cloak before pulling her briefcase from beneath her chair and heading for the front doors.

"She must be working away from home today," Minerva murmured, before returning to the perusal of her morning mail.

Moments later, Albus gained her attention again with another gentle touch to her arm. She looked at him and he directed her attention to a fiercely glowering Potions master, who was standing over his wife's barely-touched breakfast as if its existence were a personal affront to him.

"Why do I get the impression that she is avoiding him?" Albus muttered, as if to himself.

"Go speak to the boy, Albus," Minerva urged him.

The Headmaster shook his head. "We must not interfere in their squabbles, Minerva. They must learn the lessons intended for them from each of their disagreements, or the relationship will not grow as it is intended to do."

Minerva sighed audibly as she watched Severus Snape stalk back out of the Great Hall without eating a bite of food.

"Severus has never been at his best when learning emotional lessons, Albus."

Dumbledore's sigh echoed her own. "I remember. That is what worries me, my dear."

* * *

Quirk jumped when the door slammed again. Scrambling out into the sitting room, he bowed to his master.

"Welcome home, Master. How may Quirk be of service?"

Snape stared at him, a nasty sneer on his face. "I was gone for all of fifteen minutes, you dolt. I do not _require_ your services."

Quirk averted his eyes deferentially. "As Master wishes," he said, backing again into the study. He went around the desk and crawled beneath it to the nest where the week-old kitty-rats lived. Bast lay back, allowing the hungry babies to nurse. Crookshanks lay several feet away on the desk chair, which had been pushed up against the wall and to one side to allow Quirk easy access to his charges. The large, fluffy ginger cat flicked his tail and watched the other felines with his flat yellow eyes.

Quirk studied the baby kitties, which, in his unstated opinion, still looked mostly like rats. There were five of them, two fluffy ones and three smooth ones, and no two of them were alike. Two kitties were as black as Bast, and two kitties were as orange as Crookshanks; one kitty was blotched with black and orange and white. Quirk had spent much time considering the kitty-rats while cooped up in the study. If it were in his nature to question the instructions given him by his master and mistress, he might have wondered why he was being asked to spend his time watching over these kittens. As it was, Quirk was trying very hard to be a good house-elf; he would do what was asked of him with all his heart.

He flinched involuntarily when he heard his master slam out the door again.

* * *

Professor Snape burst into the Potions classroom, causing the door to rebound off the wall before thudding shut behind him. Striding to the front of the room in a swirl of his black cloak, he turned on his heel and glared at his NEWT students. Meredith Greengrass caught the eye of her lab partner, David Urquhart, and rolled her eyes toward their Head of House. David nodded minutely, immediately straightening in his seat and staring straight ahead. The table with the three Gryffindors continued to buzz quietly with conversation; obviously the idiots had become so used to the toned-down Snape that they had forgotten the malevolence of the full-force Snape. The two Slytherins experienced a moment of inner joy. Gryffindor blood was about to flow – well, Gryffindor rubies were about to fly out of the hour glass, and that was just as good.

Euan Abercrombie chuckled softly at something said to him by Ray Jordan while Emma Frobisher quickly finished up the homework she had been assigned in Arithmancy. Professor Snape, who had been quite lax, comparatively speaking, in his class thus far this term, was staring at the Gryffindor students, waiting for them to realize that class had already begun. When they failed to do so, he strolled to their table and stopped right in front of them.

Emma Frobisher was the first one to see a very cold and undoubtedly angry Potions master staring at the Gryffindor students. Her reflexive squeak alerted her tablemates to their danger, too late.

"What has so captured your attention, Mr. Abercrombie?" he inquired in his soft, deadly voice.

"N-nothing, Sir," Euan replied shakily. "I apologize; I didn't realize class had begun."

"Oh, that is abundantly obvious, Mr. Abercrombie."

The Slytherins snickered behind their hands, waiting for the axe to fall.

"Let me think," he said in his silkiest voice. "That will be twenty points each from Gryffindor for inattention in class."

Ray Jordan was so unfortunate as to gasp out loud, which drew the black, tunnel-like eyes to his face. "Another ten points from Mr. Jordan – and a detention."

He waited a moment, spreading his hands expansively. "Come, come, I am perfectly willing to take more points from your House."

The three Gryffindors sat stonily, keeping their eyes straight ahead, digging into deeply ingrained memories to discover again how to behave in Professor Snape's class. Professor Snape stood over them for another moment, then curled his lip and returned to the front of the classroom.

"Who can tell me the uses of hellebore?" he demanded.

* * *

Professor Snape entered the ground floor room set aside for the staff meeting late that afternoon, seating himself at the uninhabited end of the table without looking either left or right. Ignoring his apparent wish to be left alone, Madam Pomfrey smiled and said, "How is Hermione, Severus?"

Snape drilled the matron with unfriendly eyes. "You should _ask_ her, Poppy."

Professor Ferguson was a recent addition to the staff, who had joined the faculty at Hogwarts as flying instructor only when Professor Hooch had left to care for an ailing relative. This was his first staff meeting, and he was very interested in everything, particularly the teachers whom he had not yet met. He sat with Professor Flitwick, who perched perilously beside him on a stack of cushions. Professor Ferguson leaned down and whispered in his broad Scottish accent, "Is that fellow as unpleasant as he looks?"

Professor Flitwick muffled a chuckle behind a raised hand. "Oh, no, he's _much_ more unpleasant than he looks."

Ferguson's brow furrowed. "You sound rather proud about that?"

Professor McGonagall snorted from the other side of Professor Ferguson and said quietly, "We are immeasurably proud of Professor Snape's singularity, Craig. You will come to appreciate it."

Albus Dumbledore cleared his throat and called the meeting to order. The agenda was typical of such meetings at schools around the world; within thirty minutes, most eyes in the room were glazed with the dullness of it all. Things livened up considerably when, during the discussion of the Yule Ball, the Headmaster said, "Severus, may we count upon you and Hermione to chaperone at the dance?"

Snape shot to his feet with such violence his chair toppled to the floor. "If you have nothing of import to discuss, Headmaster, I bloody well have more important things to do!"

The slam of the staffroom door was still echoing in the room when Professor McGonagall's eager voice was heard.

"Who had 7 November in the pool, Professor Vector?"

The Arithmancy professor pulled out a chart as Professor Ferguson looked about at the highly amused teachers with confusion. "What pool?"

It was the Headmaster who answered him. "The office pool to determine upon which day the honeymoon would be over and Professor Snape would be back to his snarky best," he imparted with a chuckle. "I think this calls for a drink, don't you?"

* * *

Severus charged through the castle corridors, rage warring with fear, warring with hurt, warring with pride, warring with longing within his unaccustomed breast. Hearing Hermione's name was like having an open wound touched. Between any other couple, this breach would have been a normal, newlywed spat. For Severus and Hermione, bound by the Enchantment, it transmuted into an agony of separation. She was not simply his wife, his lover, his "pet" – she was his comfort, his security, his stability – a rift between them cut him to the very soul.

She had laughingly asked him, in those first heady days of their acceptance of the Enchantment, if it would always be so strong between them that they would constantly be driven to touch one another. He had told her, as he had learned from his research, that the Enchantment would not change, but that they would learn to adapt to it so that they would be able to function in their every day lives without feeling driven every moment to be in physical contact with one another. He had been correct; after a lengthy and concentrated honeymoon – during which they "concentrated" on adapting to the Enchantment – the urge had become a dull roar in the background of his consciousness.

But _this_ torment was something new. They had not, in their short time together, had an argument that had not been settled on the spot, even if it took a great deal of shouting, swearing, and pacing to accomplish a peaceful resolution. He reminded himself that the Enchantment was not only about the physical passion; it was also about the peace and solace they each found within the other.

Now, atop the Astronomy Tower at sunset, he looked out over the grounds of Hogwarts and felt more alone than he had ever felt in the deepest despair of his Death Eater days. Then, in his youth, he had never known the rest and repose of complete acceptance; he had never experienced the peace of the safe harbour that was his Hermione.

Severus pulled his cloak more closely about him and stared, unseeing, into the Dark Forest.

* * *

A scream of indignation pierced the merriment in the staff room. The professors lowered their glasses and turned as one to stare at Sibyll Trelawney, who was standing in a welter of scarves and shawls, pointing in accusation at Professor Firenze.

Minerva McGonagall's voice cut across the room with asperity. "Really, Sibyll! What in the world are you on about?"

The affronted Divination teacher drew a shaky breath. "Him! He said he knew it all along! He constantly taunts me!"

Professor Vector looked up from her chart. "Firenze it is! Well, we don't need to ask how _you_ knew what date to choose!" She rummaged in her pocket and brought out a bag that clinked with gold. "Here's the pot, Firenze. Good show."

The majestic centaur accepted the bag with a simple nod of his head, then turned and held it out to Professor Trelawney. "I have no use for an excess of Human gold. Allow me to make you a gift of it."

Dead silence greeted these words, as every person in the room was stricken speechless.

* * *

Severus was standing in the middle of the sitting room, his lips pressed together in a thin, tight line, when she came in the door after ten o'clock that night.

"I see you decided to come home tonight," he sneered.

Hermione removed her cloak and hung it on the peg by the door. "Please don't start with me tonight, Severus."

"Have you eaten?" he demanded.

"Yes, we ate a Chinese take away," she responded, moving past him toward the bedroom.

"We?"

"Simon and Perry and I. I told you I was working with them today."

He curled his lip at her retreating back. "I trust it will not be necessary for you to do so again?"

She turned to face him from the doorway of their bedroom. Her face was drawn with exhaustion, fatigue etched into her weary eyes. When she spoke, her voice held none of the pugnacity which she had displayed in other altercations with him; even her tone showed an alarming quality of enervation.

"Yes, it _will_ be necessary. It will take the efforts of all of us to complete the next stage in this process. This is important work, Severus – if we are correct about the efficacy of this potion, it will make nerve regeneration possible. Do you _know_ how many patients St. Mungo's is still seeing every day – veterans of the war – who are suffering from the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse?" She sagged for a moment against the doorframe, rubbing at her eyes. "We are so close – I won't stop trying."

"To what strength are you brewing the infusion of hellebore?" Severus said, standing with his arms crossed and his feet braced as if for battle.

"We need the strength at no less than ninety percent, or it will not have the necessary narcotic effect."

He snorted his disdain. "It is not possible. You will just melt cauldron after cauldron. I believe I advised you so when you first discussed this project with me."

Hermione rallied her strength and stood straight again. "I _will_ do it! It is only a matter of finding the necessary combination of Strengthening and Containment Charms."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Foolish wand waving! It has no place in a Potions laboratory."

Hermione advanced a step back into the sitting room; Severus congratulated himself on drawing her back towards him, even if it was only to express her anger.

"Just because _you_ are stuck in the seventies as far as your Potions training goes does not mean that the science has not advanced in the last twenty years," she spat. "Did you ever bother to _read_ my course thesis from University? I conducted some very promising research into the fusion of charm work and potion brewing!"

"Of course I read your thesis, stupid girl! Who do you think forwarded the damn thing to the Ministry for Magic? _You_ certainly never bothered to do so – and how on earth you thought you would ever find a situation without bothering to put yourself forward I have no way of knowing!"

They had advanced upon one another until they were standing toe-to-toe, both of them angry enough to be saying things for which they would presently be very sorry.

" _You_ did it? You're the reason why Penny Clearwater asked me to come in for an interview? So you could have me work from home? So you could keep an eye on me? How dare you!" Hermione's fists were clenched by her sides as she shouted at him, fury in every line of her body.

"Why would I feel the need to keep an eye on you, Hermione? I am, after all, _stuck in the seventies_ – and in the seventies we believed in _free love_."

He spoke the last two words with such mocking scorn that it took all of Hermione's resolution not to slap his contemptuous face.

Instead, she pushed past him, grabbing her cloak from the peg and her bag from the table.

"Where are you going?" he thundered, striding after her.

Hermione whirled on him, her wand in her hand. "Don't make me hex you, Severus." She wrenched the door open. "It takes all of my energy to work on this project. I don't have time for your ridiculous tantrums. I'll find someplace else to stay."

"Do not walk out that door, madam. I forbid it." She was a strong and clever witch, but she would stand no chance against him in a duel – although he could never force himself to employ his wand against his wife. There was no need, after all – it was her duty to obey him –

– which was a belief Hermione apparently did not share. She turned her back on him and walked out, quietly closing the door to their home behind her.

* * *

It was Quirk who removed the empty brandy bottle from his master's slackened hand and covered Master's recumbent body, much of which protruded from the end of the too-short sofa, in the wee hours of the morning.

* * *

* * *

A/N: From the delightful internet, comes this definition of black hellebore: The Black Hellebore - once known as Melampode - is a perennial, low-growing plant, with dark, shining, smooth leaves and flower-stalks rising directly from the root, its pure white blossoms appearing in the depth of winter and thereby earning for it the favourite name of **Christmas Rose**.

For the significance of Wednesday mornings in the Snape home, see _A Hallowe'en Tail_ , one chapter back.

Severus' complicity in sending Hermione's course thesis to the Ministry for Magic was strongly implied in the first chapter of _Nobody Told Me There'd Be Days Like These_ , a few more chapters back.

Whether her interpretation of his reasons is correct is another matter entirely.

Professor Ferguson left Hogwarts the year before Severus began. He played professional Quidditch for an American team, then coached for the same team before coming to Hogwarts as the flying instructor.


	17. Chapter 17

Master of Enchantment

Book 5: The Christmas Rose

Chapter 2: Melting and Exploding

_Six Weeks Before Christmas_

Hermione entered the spare bedroom in Penny Clearwater's flat and sagged into a reclining position on the bed, too tired to bother shrugging out of her robes. It had been five nights since she had walked out on Severus, and she was completely beyond thought or feeling any longer. Her only tolerance now was for the Christmas Rose Potion project. She swallowed food for fuel, slept without moving for eight hours every night, then rose with the sun to shower, dress, and go out to do it again. Penny now was spending the long, fruitless, frustrating days in Simon Lewis' laboratory with the rest of the team working on the project. An extra hand was always useful, an extra wand even more so, for the attempts they made to brew the critically needed hellebore infusion.

If anyone dared to speak to her about anything unrelated to the Christmas Rose Potion, Hermione responded in a querulous tone that bordered on hysteria.

And she could not, she would not, think about Severus.

That familiar plunging feeling, so visceral as to be physically discernable, blindsided her as her defences crumbled. No, no, please! Circe, not this – not now. She clenched her fists in the bedclothes, gripping them tightly, until her white knuckles could grasp no tighter. The sudden nausea which rose without warning sent her scrambling for the bathroom; she knelt on the cold linoleum of the floor, losing what little nutrition she had managed to ingest hours ago from a cardboard container.

Her forehead pressed against the toilet cistern as one hand reached for the handle to flush. She felt a kindly hand gathering her hair back from her face and securing it in a queue; the same hand then bathed her face from behind with a wet face flannel.

When she was sure her retching was over for this go, Hermione looked up at Penny with a pitiful smile.

Penny held out a hand. "Let's get you to bed."

Hermione allowed Penny to help her up without argument and went into the bedroom, where she wordlessly changed from her creased robes into a borrowed flannel nightdress. Penny sat on the end of the bed, watching her.

"Let me Floo him."

"No."

"You're making yourself really ill, Hermione. This has got to stop."

Hermione's head dropped; unbidden, the tears came again.

Penny sighed. This was a cycle that had been repeated several times in the days Hermione had been with her. Merlin deliver her from stubborn people! If she had ever once been through _one_ of the episodes which Hermione had suffered almost daily for the last five nights, she would have done anything in her power to make it stop.

Penny stood and pulled back the bedclothes, plumping the pillow before taking Hermione by the arm and leading her to the bed. Experience of the last several days had taught her that comforting words, arm pats, and hugs were of no use once Hermione reached this stage; the best she could hope for was to dose her with Dreamless Sleep and pray for the best.

Penny pulled the bedclothes up and sat down next to Hermione on the edge of the bed, watching her carefully.

"Oh, God, Penny, it _hurts_ ," Hermione whispered, turning her tear-streaked face away, toward the wall.

"Where?" the Healer asked, grasping her wrist. "Let me help you."

Hermione did not respond. The longing raced through her veins as if her blood were afire. She had thought the desire was strong in the beginning, when they were so new – but the need for his presence, his comfort, his staunch and unchanging _self_ , was bringing her swiftly to her knees.

The charm work she was attempting took all of her considerable power, every single day. By the end of each of their sessions she was drained so completely that Penny often had to Apparate them back to her flat when they gave it up, late at night, walking away from the disaster of yet another molten cauldron. She had no energy to deal with Severus and his jealousies and his unprovoked attacks.

Yet another wracking surge of misery coursed through her, wringing a moan of anguish from her throat.

Penny stood and went to fetch the phial of Dreamless Sleep. She could not bring Hermione to her senses, nor repair her sundered marital relationship, but she could provide surcease for the night.

* * *

Remus Lupin looked up anxiously at his fiancée as she joined him at a table in the Hogs Head Inn. Seeing her adorable face brought a softening and a tender smile to his face. He stood and gently kissed her lips before seating himself again, close enough to her that he could reach out and touch her as he spoke.

Tonks found herself forgetting the cares that had burdened her when she walked in the door of the pub. When she saw _that_ look in his topaz eyes, all she wanted to do was crawl into his lap and kiss every inch of his precious face – and that was just for starters.

Remus captured the hand which bore the small diamond she wore so proudly and turned it so that he could press a kiss to her soft inner wrist. "I love you, 'Dora," he said in a voice suddenly choked with emotion.

'Dora reached up and stroked her finger down the old scar which bisected both lips at an angle. "I thought you said we won't have time tonight," she reminded him softly, suddenly ready to drag him up the rickety steps to brave the questionable sheets on the beds above.

He chuckled and gave his head a shake, causing his greying sandy hair to fall into his face. "We don't. I have an appointment to meet with Minerva in an hour."

"I could sneak in a side door and up to your rooms…"

"Albus threatened me if we did that again. No love-making in the castle, not until we're married – not during term time."

'Dora, who had known what he would say before she made the suggestion, dragged her hungry gaze away from his face and answered the question he had come to the pub to ask her.

"I couldn't see her – she's spending fifteen hours a day working in this Lewis bloke's laboratory. I did talk to Penny, though. Hermione cries herself to sleep every night; Penny usually ends up dosing her with a sleeping potion."

Remus shook his head. "Severus is a mess. I had to get between him and Craig Ferguson this afternoon. Severus is so … difficult. Filius Flitwick said he _warned_ the new bloke about Severus at the staff meeting on Wednesday – you would think Ferguson would have had better sense than to accost him after that."

'Dora opened her eyes wide. "What did Ferguson _do_ to Severus?"

Remus shook his head. "Severus refused to say, just left the room. Ferguson said he just made a friendly comment about Severus' work for the Order during the war."

'Dora pondered a moment. "I'll lay you odds he was stupid enough to mention Hermione in some way."

Remus glanced at her with respect. "I would not bet against you, my love." He stood and held out a hand to her. "I'll walk you to the Apparition point."

'Dora preceded him out onto the darkened Hogsmeade street. When the door closed behind them, she tilted her head and gazed up into his face. "Promise you'll come spend the night, soon."

Remus ducked into an alley, pulling her after him, where he gently but firmly pressed her up against the wall. "Wait up for me tonight," he commanded hoarsely, before bending his head to hungrily devour her mouth.

* * *

Severus entered Professor McGonagall's office and seated himself in the hard wooden chair indicated for his use.

"Thank you for coming, Severus," the Deputy Headmistress said.

"I was under the impression it was a _summons_ Minerva," Severus returned.

"Would you have come if I had worded the request differently?"

Severus merely quirked an eyebrow in reply.

"Then you understand why I phrased my invitation as I did." She appraised him frankly, noting the lank, greasy hair, the less-than pristine condition of his shirt, and the shadow of stubble on his cheeks. "You look a mess, Severus. You're tormenting the students and terrorizing the staff. How much longer do you intend to let this quarrel with Hermione continue?"

Severus rose precipitately to his feet. "I do not intend to discuss my marriage with you or anyone else, Minerva," he spat out savagely, turning for the door.

In her most imperious, commanding voice, Professor McGonagall said, "Take your _seat_ , Severus Snape. You have _not_ been dismissed!"

Somehow transported back twenty-five years, when she was his Transfiguration professor, the boy in Severus compelled him to obey McGonagall's order. Seating himself again before her desk, he looked at her bleakly.

"Now. What did you quarrel about?" she inquired reasonably.

Severus looked away from her uncomfortably. "She is working too much."

Minerva regarded him with a small show of astonishment. "Surely you do not seriously expect me to believe you quarreled about something so ridiculous?"

His shoulders sagged and his head lowered. "I'm too old for her, Minerva," he said, his voice barely audible.

"The age difference is no greater now than it was when you rushed into marrying her, Severus. Pray tell, what is the difference between now and then?"

As she watched him, she saw how he struggled with himself. It was so hard for this boy to open himself to other people; trying to help him when he was in trouble was like trying to tend to a wounded tiger. He circled and snarled and let fly with his heavily clawed paws even as he limped and bled.

Finally, he looked into her face with anguished eyes. "She said…" His voice failed and he had to clear his throat before he tried again. "She said I am 'stuck in the seventies.'"

The look on McGonagall's face was patently incredulous.

"What?" he demanded with a show of his usual ill-temper.

"Severus, were you quarreling when she said it?"

"Yes, did I not say so?"

McGonagall leaned toward him impatiently. "Did you mean everything you said to _her_ in that altercation?"

Severus opened his mouth to retort, but McGonagall forestalled him. "Did you exaggerate? Engage in name-calling? Speak to her as if she did not have the sense of a flobberworm?"

Severus' mouth snapped closed again and a sulky look descended upon his face. "It's not as if I had not done all of those things before when we have argued," he whinged.

"Was she, or was she not, completely _exhausted_ from her work when this argument took place?" Minerva asked him.

"She was, and I was only trying to talk some sense into her! She's driving herself too hard on this project."

Minerva's gusty sigh goaded him. "Why do you greet every piece of information I impart to you with such signs of disgust?" he demanded.

Speaking slowly and carefully, as if he were not quite bright, Professor McGonagall said, "Severus, I want you to think back. This is going to be difficult, because my understanding is that the Enchantment is an overwhelming force. Nevertheless, I want you to make a signal effort to remember: what is it that you liked about Hermione before the Enchantment?"

He thought for a moment, before saying, "Her intelligence, her drive –" he stopped and sputtered. "Who says I liked her before the Enchantment?" The sudden diminution of the quality of his word choice and the maturity of his attitude placed him firmly in the company of his fifth year students.

Minerva gave him a triumphant smirk. "No one told me, Severus. It was a guess. Now, please continue. Her intelligence, her drive…"

Severus glowered at her. "What is your point?" he demanded peevishly.

McGonagall stood and walked around the desk. "My point is this: the very qualities that placed her in Gryffindor House, joined with the qualities which you admired in her, are the reason _why_ she is driving herself. Did you think she would cease to be herself because she became your wife? Was it your wish for her to do so?"

Severus rose and walked jerkily across the room to the window, then paced back to her desk, distress on his face. "Never. I want her to have the career she wants – I want her to have _everything_ she wants – but I need for her to want _me_ , as well." The last bit was barely audible.

Minerva reached out a compassionate hand and placed it upon his arm. "Now we reach the crux of the matter. Who are her work companions?"

Severus' lips grew tight and he wrenched his chin up, flinging the oily hair back from his face. "Two young men from the Ministry."

"Severus," Minerva said, waiting patiently until he turned his face back to hers. "She only has eyes for you. She does not care about the age difference. Young men of her age have _never_ interested her. Even without the Enchantment, there is not another man who could supplant you in Hermione's heart."

She saw with some satisfaction the tiny flare of hope in his eyes. "Do you truly believe that?" he asked her quietly.

Minerva answered without hesitation. "With every fibre of my being, Severus. You have no rival for Hermione's affections. But if you are going to allow your own insecurity to cause you to doubt her, I don't know what is going to become of you. Have you so little confidence in her?"

Astonishment washed across Severus' harsh features. "I have _every_ confidence in her," he answered firmly.

Minerva allowed a small smile to grace her lips as she squeezed his arm. "Let some of that confidence in her abilities bleed over into your feelings about her integrity and the quality of her fidelity," she advised him.

With a rare show of caring, Severus' mouth softened as one of his large hands covered McGonagall's hand on his sleeve.

She patted his angular cheek before she turned to seat herself behind her desk again. "Good luck," she said.

He stopped at the door and looked back at her. "I am going to need it."

Minerva watched him square his shoulders before he walked out of the room; the closing of the door found her indulging in a fond smile.

* * *

Penny was crossing the hallway with a phial in her hand when she heard the knock upon her door. With a sudden hope that it was an unexpected visit from Viktor Krum, who had popped in to see her twice since the Halloween Ball, she patted her hair before opening to her visitor.

"Professor Dumbledore!" she said, astonished.

"Good evening, Healer Clearwater," he said politely, peering at her over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. "I know it is late to pay a call – but may I come in?"

Penny stepped back from the door and invited him to enter, suddenly conscious of the disorder of her sitting room. "Please excuse the mess … we've been quite busy at work."

Dumbledore seated himself upon her couch, between a stack of Healing periodicals and pile of towels which she had yet to fold. "The Christmas Rose Potion, I believe?" he inquired.

Penny seated herself in an armchair and nodded. "Do you know about it?"

"I have read a bit about it," he admitted. "May I ask about your progress?"

Penny sighed. "I'm just an extra chopper in the laboratory; Simon Lewis and Peregrine Smith have been leading the research. When Hermione joined us, things really began to move along. But we've hit an impasse."

Dumbledore had a look of polite interest on his face, waiting for additional information, when Hermione wandered into the sitting room wearing the dressing gown she had also borrowed from Penny.

"I thought I heard your voice, sir," she said.

Dumbledore stood and crossed to her. "Please sit down, Hermione. You do not look well." He indicated the place he had vacated on the couch. When she had seated herself, he flicked his wand at the pile of towels, which folded themselves and flew into Penny's arms.

Penny understood Dumbledore's unspoken request; standing, she said, "I'm going to put these things away," and left the room.

Dumbledore seated himself where the towels had been and handed Hermione a clean handkerchief from his pocket. "Please don't feel you must stop crying on my account," he told her kindly.

Hermione choked out a sound which was a cross between a laugh and a sob. "I have been crying a bit, lately," she admitted.

Dumbledore did not speak, but watched her in a helpful way, his manner inviting her to speak her mind.

"Did Severus ask you to come?" she said.

Dumbledore thought he detected a tiny note of hope in her tone. "No, Severus does not know I am here."

Hermione looked down at her hands and pulled at the borrowed handkerchief. "I see," she said in a small voice.

"Do you?" he inquired curiously.

Hermione looked up into his piercing blue eyes.

Dumbledore then said, "Hermione, what makes you certain that your marriage will still be there for you to return to it?"

He watched the thoughts process sluggishly through her exhausted mind; when he perceived the expression of horror on her face, he spoke again.

"In the wizarding world, a wife is generally submissive to her husband's wishes."

Hermione seemed to swell with indignation at this pronouncement. "That is old-fashioned rhetoric from a time when women were regarded as chattel!" she protested.

Dumbledore held up a calming hand. "It is indeed an old-fashioned belief, Hermione, but it is still a tradition. You must remember that your husband was raised in this custom, however, and has lived immersed in the wizarding world for all of his forty-one years. As hard as he may try to understand and appreciate your point of view, you must make allowances for some beliefs being harder to dislodge than others."

She gazed into the fireplace, mulling over his words. Dumbledore once again allowed her some time to digest his words before speaking again.

"He forbade you to do something, Hermione. Had he ever done so before?"

Hermione looked over at the old wizard. "No, sir; Severus has never forbidden me to do anything."

"You are perhaps unfamiliar with the wizarding precept which states that when the husband invokes his power of Prohibition, it is the wife's duty to obey?"

Hermione's jaw dropped. "What?"

Dumbledore nodded, and was pleased to see Penelope Clearwater poke her head into the room again. With a slight movement of his head, he invited her to join them again.

"Perhaps you could bear me out, Healer Clearwater?"

Penny knelt down by Hermione's feet. "Did he use those words, Hermione?"

In a fair imitation of her husband's tone and diction, she said, "'Do not walk out that door, madam. I forbid it.'"

When Penny winced, Hermione looked mutinous. "That's _ridiculous_! Why on earth should he able to command my obedience like some feudal lord wielding power over a serf?"

Dumbledore spoke to her with some sharpness. "You say that he has never Prohibited you before, Hermione. You cannot say that he is using this responsibility frivolously."

Penny spoke again, then. "I can only remember my father using the power of Prohibition with my mum twice in my lifetime, Hermione. It is not something which is used lightly. I'm not saying that there are not idiots who would misuse it, but a good man does not. It is a solemn charge, after all."

"Could he _compel_ me to obey?" she asked indignantly.

Penny looked shocked. "That is _never_ done. A wizard would not pull his wand on his own wife! It's _indecent_ , Hermione." After a moment, she continued, "A wizard only Prohibits his wife to safeguard her, the marriage, or the family. For her to disregard it is a great sign of disrespect."

Hermione covered her face with her hands. "Why was _none_ of this ever discussed at Hogwarts? Or at University? How can I have lived in this world for half my life and _still_ not know things that are so fundamental that they are never even spoken of?"

Penny grasped her wrists and pulled her hands from her face. "Severus knows you're Muggle-born, Hermione. I'm sure, if you explain to him that you did not know about the power of Prohibition, that he'll understand. He _loves_ you!"

"He didn't Prohibit me until the end of the quarrel, Penny! He was being beastly about my work on the project! And jealous of Simon and Perry! He was being demanding and nasty and insensitive!"

Dumbledore snorted and turned the sound into a cough. Hermione turned affronted eyes to him.

"I beg your pardon, Hermione, but you have just described your husband's basic personality to a nicety. Surely you're not going to hold these things against him at this late date?"

Hermione opened her mouth to argue and Dumbledore spoke again. "Step back from the argument, my dear, and tell me the facets of Severus' personality of which you were aware before you knew about the Enchantment."

Hermione closed her mouth again and pondered. Penny stood, saying that she would brew up a nice pot of tea, and disappeared into her small kitchen. At last, Hermione began.

"He's the most intelligent man I've ever met – well, barring you, sir, but you must admit that you're in a different category than most men are."

Dumbledore inclined his head at the compliment and indicated with a hand movement that she should continue.

"He is sarcastic, snide, and cynical, and viciously witty. He is antisocial, unpleasant and a bit emotionally backward."

Here Dumbledore held up a hand again. "Let us discuss this arrested development. You are aware of the causes of it?"

Hermione looked frankly into the Headmaster's eyes. "He has allowed me into his mind, sir, with permission to Legilimize him without reserve. In fact, he guided me, to see everything about him, before he would accept my love. I am aware of the causes."

"What do you imagine are some of the unfortunate side-effects of his emotional handicap, as it were?"

Hermione applied her mind to the puzzle. "He is overly sensitive, virtually incapable of accepting kindness, unable to form or maintain friendships, and insecure in the highest degree."

Professor Dumbledore nodded, as if to praise a student who has returned a particularly complete answer to a question posed in the classroom. "Now, tell me, my dear, did you by any chance say anything unfortunate to him in your quarrel – anything, perhaps, in the heat of anger, which you would later have begged pardon for saying?"

Hermione covered her face with her hands again. "I told him he is stuck in the seventies."

Penny, who was entering the room with the tea tray, said, "Ouch!"

"I too, have been accused of that – of course, my accuser meant the _eighteen_ -seventies." He twinkled at the young women over his spectacles. "Let us have this lovely tea; I believe we have discussed this matter sufficiently."

Hermione gave him a grateful, if tremulous smile, and sat forward to pour a cup of tea for him. Penny walked into her bedroom and came out again with a bulging briefcase.

"You are familiar with alchemy, are you not, Professor?" Penny said, approaching him with the mass of parchment. "Would you look over our research and see if there is anything we are missing?"

* * *

Severus was standing at the Apparition point outside the gates of Hogwarts the next morning when Hermione appeared.

For a moment they stared at one another, both startled. Then Hermione spoke, awkwardly.

"I was on my way to find you," she said.

"I was on my way to find you," he replied.

"I need to ask for your help," she continued.

He looked at her, her hair a bushy, messy mass, confined to a disorderly queue, her face devoid of cosmetics, showing signs of exhaustion, her eyes tired and bloodshot, and all he knew was that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms for all time.

He spoke stiffly. "How may I be of service to you?"

She looked at him, seeing the signs of sleeplessness in the pronounced lines on his careworn face, the eyes as bloodshot as her own, the disorder of his clothing, and wanted nothing so much as to climb into him and hide herself there forever.

"Can we go somewhere for coffee?" she asked.

* * *

Severus sat across the table from her in the Leaky Cauldron and forced himself to listen to what she was saying. He wanted to touch her, needed to touch her, but she had made no move to apologize to him for walking out. She had also given no sign that she wished to be touched. It dawned on him that he was going to have to find a way to solve this problem with her work project if he wanted to regain her attention for himself. It was part of her Gryffindor determination, he reminded himself. She could no more walk away from a task that needed to be completed than he could deny himself the opportunity to taunt a Gryffindor.

With renewed attention, he began to attend to her explanation.

* * *

Hermione stepped out of the fireplace and Severus Flooed in behind her. As he brushed the ash from his black cloak, he could see the anxious looks upon the faces of the project partners. Both of them had been students of his; he had made it his business to find out about them when Hermione had walked out on him.

Peregrine Smith and Simon Lewis had both obtained Outstanding marks in Potions on both their OWLs and their NEWTs. He had no clear memory of either of them, other than a vague recollection of their faces in the sea of students whom he had taught in his years as the Potions master at Hogwarts.

Nodding haughtily to each of the men, he said, "Mr. Smith, Mr. Lewis." He then turned to the other woman in the room and said, "Good afternoon, Healer Clearwater."

The wizards murmured cautious greetings to their old Potions master, wondering for the umpteenth time how a girl as brilliant as _Hermione_ could have tied herself to the Greasy Bat of the Dungeons. Penny was considerably braver, stepping forward with a smile and offering her hand.

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape. Thank you for agreeing to help us."

Severus cast a coldly appraising look around the laboratory before briefly shaking the proffered hand, then answered, "I said I would investigate the _possibility_ of helping you."

Simon, in whose laboratory they were working, made a mental comparison of the cleanliness and orderliness of his own work space as compared to the Potions classroom at Hogwarts and immediately busied himself tidying up.

Hermione led Severus to the large parchment-littered table at the side of the room, which had a number of mismatched chairs pulled up around it. "Give over, Si, and come sit down. We need to explain our procedure to Severus if he's going to help us."

Simon gave up on cleaning the work surface and joined the others at the table. Presently, the three researchers were posing their work to their old Potions master, answering his curt and perspicacious questions and feeling very much as if it were their NEWT oral examinations, all over again. Healer Clearwater looked on in amusement, occasionally making notes to herself as they went.

The clock above stairs was chiming four o'clock when the researchers and the professor had completed their consultation and had outlined their plan for the next attempt at brewing the hellebore infusion.

Perry stood, leaning back a bit to work the kinks out of his back. "So, are we ready to begin, then?"

Severus stood, very much in his classroom persona, and spoke.

"Certainly not, Mr. Smith; please take your seat."

Perry sat down quickly, trading a quizzical look with Simon. Hermione and Penny, however, were utterly attentive to Professor Snape.

"When did you last eat?" he demanded of Simon Lewis.

"Uh, I had toast and tea this morning," he replied.

Severus turned his hard stare on Perry Smith. "I had coffee and a bun on the way over here, sir."

Next Penny and Hermione received his attention. "We had tea and toast this morning, too," Hermione told him.

Simon was getting a bit tired of the old autocrat coming into _his_ laboratory and acting as if they were all schoolchildren again.

"See here, Professor, what has that got to do with this?" he demanded.

Severus turned on him. "What has the general good sense of eating properly and sleeping properly and fully replenishing your magical strength every single night got to do with your ability to perfect an untried magical experiment which is dependent upon your single and combined abilities to reach its completion?"

As he spoke, his voice had grown quieter and his enunciation more precise, until his last words were a whisper, and each of the four young persons were leaning forward to hear him.

"Perhaps you could explain in what way your health and strength does _not_ affect the outcome of this project, Mr. Lewis?"

After a moment of abashed silence, Hermione spoke.

"What must we do, Severus?"

Severus reached into his watch pocket and consulted the timepiece.

"I will meet each of you in one hour at the Leaky Cauldron. Ask for the private room. You will dine properly, on a nutritious meal, and then you will return to your homes and your beds and you will take the phial of sleeping potion with which I will provide you. You will remain in your beds for no less than nine full hours. After a night of complete rest, we will meet here in the morning and make another attempt."

Without waiting for any sign of agreement from the others, Severus strode to the fireplace and held his hand out to Hermione.

"Come with me, please, Hermione. I wish to speak with you."

Hermione was strongly tempted to repudiate this domineering command, feeling that she would rather stay and discuss matters further with her co-workers. However, Penny nudged her with a certain violence under the table, and it occurred to her that she did not need to further insult a husband whose power of Prohibition had already been flouted – not if she wished to remain married, at any rate.

With a smile at Simon and Perry, she obediently stepped into the fireplace with Severus and held his hand as he released the powder and said clearly, "The Leaky Cauldron."

* * *

Severus stepped out of the fireplace and immediately turned to offer his hand once again to Hermione. The touch of her hand alone had been enough to both assuage and arouse the demands of the Enchantment. She took his hand and he led her to the bar, where he arranged the details of their dinner with Tom, the innkeeper.

Tom then escorted them into the private parlour, stoking up the fire and closing the door behind him before he left them alone.

Severus stepped over to the tray upon which several bottles resided. Picking up a bottle of deep red burgundy, he poured a goblet half-full of the wine and carried it to Hermione, who had chosen to seat herself in a leather wingback chair by the fire.

"Please oblige me by drinking this wine, Hermione. It will stimulate your appetite and enable you to partake of a full meal. It's the burgundy that we have at Enchanté."

Hermione accepted the goblet of wine and took a mouthful. He stood over her, watching her, much as he had done on a long ago night at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, when he had poured brandy into a teacup and made sure that she drank it.

When he was convinced that she was making an effort to ingest the burgundy, he said, "There is something I must obtain from my office at Hogwarts. I will be back quickly." Without further comment, he exited the private parlour.

Hermione's eyes flicked to the clock on the mantelpiece; thankfully, she noted that the others would be joining them soon. Severus would not have much time to work himself into a full tantrum in such a short period of time.

Very soon, Severus returned to his wife. She jumped nervously when he entered the room, and he knew a moment of sour satisfaction. At least she had some respect for his _temper_.

"You will feel better when you have eaten a proper dinner and had a full night's sleep," he told her, seating himself in the armchair facing her.

Hermione was surprised at his choice of topic, though she responded readily enough. "But you don't think we will succeed, even if we're rested," she said disconsolately.

"Nonsense. I never said that."

Her eyes flew to his face. "You never said you thought it might work, either!"

He raised an eyebrow at her and crossed one long leg negligently over the other. "When have you ever known me to be effusive?"

Hermione found herself entirely distracted by the movement of his legs. She paused, with the glass only part way to her mouth, and remembered the sight of his unclothed legs, with particular attention to the lean muscle of his thighs.

Severus saw her pause and clearly read the bit of lust that crossed her face. He breathed an internal sigh of relief and deliberately shifted his position, uncrossing his legs and watching her eyes go to his fly.

Severus reached across the small distance between them and took her goblet from her. "You've had enough wine, I think," he said, his amusement evident in his tone.

Hermione watched him longingly as he crossed the room to return the goblet to the tray.

"I knew nothing about the power of Prohibition, Severus," she blurted suddenly.

He paused for a moment, his hands reaching out to grasp the edge of the table before him.

His back still to her, he spoke. "How can that be, Hermione?"

She stood and began to pace before the fireplace. "Muggles don't have it," she explained.

He turned then, a frown upon his face. "Muggle wives do not obey their husbands?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course they do! That is, some of them do, but it is a custom which has fallen into obscurity in the last thirty years or so."

Softly he said, "You mean, since the _seventies_?"

She looked at him from across the room, her contrition evident on her pinched face.

"I didn't mean it! I was angry with you!"

He advanced upon her, holding her gaze with his glittering black eyes. "I am too old for you, Hermione."

"You are perfect for me, Severus," she responded, trying and failing to look away from his compelling gaze.

He stopped before her, just beyond her reach. "I have acted foolishly, Hermione. I never meant for you to think that I am not very proud of the work you did in University. And I am very proud also of your position at the Ministry and the work you are doing there. I _can_ learn to control my feelings of jealousy, Hermione. I know that I must."

She looked up hopefully at these words and advanced to meet him, placing the palms of her hands flat on his chest as she gazed into his eyes. He was reaching for her when the door to the room opened and the rest of their party entered, talking amongst themselves.

With a rueful smile at her husband, Hermione turned to greet her workmates.

* * *

Severus looked about at the young people when they had finished their pudding. He had resolutely refused to allow any of them to have coffee with their pie. "No stimulants," he had said firmly. Standing, he pulled four phials from his pocket; these were the reason why he had returned to Hogwarts.

"We are agreed that we will meet here at eight o'clock in the morning for breakfast?" he said.

The four heads nodded.

He held up one of the phials and showed it to them. "This potion will become effective thirty minutes after you ingest it. You will do well to go straight home and to bed; tomorrow may be a long day."

"Bed at eight o'clock at night?" Penny said doubtfully.

Severus raised an eyebrow at her. "You are not required to participate, Healer Clearwater. If you have other plans that will occupy you, please do not feel compelled."

Penny rose and held out her hand for the phial. "What is it, exactly?"

Realising that the Healer was as familiar with such potions as he was himself, he responded. "It is a variation of Dreamless Sleep, including a large dose of nutritional supplement and a slight sedative. I mixed it specifically for this purpose." He held the remaining phials out to the others, each of whom took one. "Drink up," he advised.

"Now?" Perry said. "Take it now?"

"If you wish to have my assistance, you will swallow it here, where I may see you do so, and go directly home and to bed," Severus replied in an uncompromising tone.

The four uncorked their phials and toasted one another. "To the Christmas Rose potion!" Simon said.

"And to Professor Snape," Penny added.

And they drained their phials.

* * *

When the young wizards had Flooed away, Penny stepped into the fireplace in the main room of the Leaky Cauldron and gave her direction. Hermione stepped up next and Severus made as if to follow her.

"Where are you going?" she asked him.

"I'm coming with you," he replied.

"Severus, I don't think…"

"…that you will be awake in another twenty minutes. I will sleep on the Healer's couch."

Hermione shrugged and held out her hand to him.

* * *

Severus removed his coat and his waistcoat while remaining in Penny's parlour and waiting for the sleeping draught to have its inevitable effect on the two witches. When he cracked the door into the spare room and found Hermione sleeping soundly, he slipped into the room and stretched out beside her, gathering her into his arms.

He was asleep in less than three minutes and slept more soundly and restfully than he had done since their quarrel began.

His internal clock woke him at dawn and he rose, fully refreshed. He was able to leave his wife sleeping in her bed, none the wiser concerning who had shared her bed in the night.

* * *

At ten o'clock that morning, the five of them were gathered in Simon Lewis' laboratory with the implements of their work arranged in a tidy and orderly manner. The fresh stalks of the black hellebore, also known as the Christmas Rose, were laid out upon the chopping surface. Perry and Simon stepped up to the table, then each turned with their silver knives held blade-first in their hands, extended to Severus.

"Sir?" Perry said. "Will you do the honours?"

Severus inclined his head in acknowledgement. "That will not be necessary, gentlemen. I am here to participate in a bit of foolish wand waving."

The young wizards looked at one another a bit uncertainly, but when they saw the old Bat take Hermione's hand in his and press it to his lips, they turned their backs and began to chop the stalk of the plant with concentration and precision.

* * *

It had been Professor Dumbledore who had spotted the weakness in their plan as he looked over the notes Healer Clearwater had shown him two nights before. He had agreed with each step they had outlined, even approving the sequence of Strengthening and Containing Charms Hermione had devised to implement the brewing of the hellebore infusion. It had not been until he reached the casting of the charms that he found a problem with the programme.

"How many assistants do you have to help in casting the series of spells?" he had inquired.

"There are three of us, Professor. Simon carries on with the brewing whilst Penny, Perry and I cast and hold the spell."

Dumbledore had paused for a moment, then had tapped a gnarled finger upon the parchment before him.

"I do not mean to throw aspersions upon your spell-casting abilities, my dear, but you do not have enough power present to maintain the integrity of the cauldron. That is the reason why the cauldrons continue to melt."

Hermione had cocked her head and considered him. "But, sir, you know that old saw, how too many cooks spoil the broth…"

Dumbledore had laughed aloud at that. "We wizards say that 'too many brewers spoil the potion,' but I follow your point, my dear. I am familiar with your strength, as well as that of Healer Clearwater and Mr. Smith. Each of you is powerful, and I'm sure that you blend your power together well." His eyes had met Hermione's then and he had held her gaze, as he had said, "What you are in need of is a fourth spell-caster, a very powerful one, whose magic blends well with yours – that is, of course, if you can think of anyone."

He had left soon after dropping that little titbit.

Hermione had Apparated to Hogwarts at first light the next morning, in search of the most powerful wizard of her acquaintance, whose magic blended with her own in a seamless whole.

* * *

It came as almost no surprise at all when the entire procedure progressed without a hitch and to a successful conclusion. The four young people, feeling themselves under the eye and the direction of their Potions master, were accustomed to projects which he directed being properly completed.

It was only in extremis, at that point in the charm progression when each previous cauldron had melted into a useless lump, that Hermione held her breath, then felt that exhilaration that comes from an idea becoming reality before one's eyes. Feeling her own magic blazing in the safe cushion provided by the low, dark note of Severus' powerful contribution, she dared to glance over at him, and found herself stricken to the core by the sight of him in all his glory. The power poured from him in waves so intense that it stirred the air around him, causing the long ebony hair to be lifted from his face. His teeth were clenched, his lips drawn back from them in an expression at once terrifying and electrifying. The look in his eyes was one of almost supernatural exhilaration.

When he turned his head and his eyes met Hermione's, she felt a jolt of passion jar through her with such force that she gasped out loud. Her focus was not impaired by this phenomenon; in some way, she found it sharpened and amplified her contribution to the stream of magic keeping the cauldron whole as Simon brewed the infusion of hellebore. She became aware that her nipples had grown taut with the wave of passion; almost instantly, the rising heat in her loins began to build higher. Instinct compelled her to accept rather than fight the physical sensations. As the arousal moved through her body, her magic flared ever stronger. Severus, too, appeared to be in the throes of an incandescent eruption, rising to meet hers, radiating out to envelope Penny and Perry in the towering conflagration. At the moment that Simon shouted the successful completion of the brewing, Hermione was convulsed with an orgasm with the magnitude of a solar implosion. Simon, as had been agreed in the planning stage, used his own wand to knock the four wands of his companions up, breaking the connection and severing the bond. Hermione, Penny, and Perry were knocked to the ground by the impact of the sundering; only Severus kept his feet, though he staggered.

Simon looked around at the charm casters. "What was _that_?"

Penny struggled up, blinking her eyes. "It was better than sex," she muttered.

Perry sat a few feet away from her, surreptitiously checking his trousers for embarrassing stains. "It _was_ sex, Penny. What are you talking about?"

Severus squatted down beside his bride. "Are you all right?"

Hermione nodded. "I'm fine. Did it work?"

Severus helped her to stand and steadied her wobbly legs with an arm around her shoulders. "It worked. See?"

Perry was up now, and he and Simon were swiftly bottling the infusion they had created, excitedly chattering about the next step in the process, when they would add it to the potion base.

Penny was sitting on a stool near the two young men, tugging at her robes and glancing about as if to determine what had just happened to her and who had witnessed it.

"Gentlemen, Healer, with your leave, I will take my wife home now."

He was wrapping her securely in his arms as he spoke; his words were mere courtesy. He was going home with his prize whether they liked it or not.

"Thank you, Professor," Penny said, prompting the young wizards to echo her sentiments.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, Hermione," Penny said, as the Snapes Apparated away.

 _Not if I have anything to say about it_ , Severus thought to himself.

After all, tomorrow was Wednesday.

* * *

A/N: I must make note here of a rather silly error I made in the writing of this chapter, which was pointed out to me by the alert my alpha reader. Penelope Clearwater is Muggle-born – we know this because she was one of the victims of the Basilisk when the Chamber of Secrets was opened. Therefore, she would have been no more familiar than Hermione was with the Power of Prohibition, and she could not possibly have been able to relate her father's use of the Prohibition with her mother, because they were both Muggles. I decided to leave the chapter as it is, but I did want those of you who spotted the mistake to know that I am aware of the inaccuracy.


	18. Chapter 18

Master of Enchantment

Book 5: The Christmas Rose

Chapter 3: Growing

_Five Weeks Before Christmas_

The blazing logs burned in the fireplace, and the Snapes basked before it in silence. Severus sat in the ingenious contraption known as a "recliner," which Hermione had Transfigured for them from one of his old wingback chairs. The seat of the recliner was certainly large enough for them to easily sit side by side. For some reason, however, Hermione preferred to sit in his lap, her cheek pressed to his chest, just above his heart. Severus held her securely to him, one arm firmly about her waist, whilst the other stroked slowly and sensually up and down her back. One of her hands clutched a fold of his white linen shirt; the other grasped and released the fine strands of his black hair, letting the strands run through her fingers, then grasping and releasing again. Her eyes were closed, an expression of bliss upon her face, lit golden by the firelight. His eyes were open, watching the fiery light as it moved over her features, accenting her cheeks, with her mouth in shadows, then shifting, so that one shell-like ear was glowing and the rest of her face indistinct.

In the week since the successful brewing of the infusion of hellebore, they had been virtually inseparable. The breach in their relationship had frightened them both into rethinking some of their personal positions on different topics. Hermione came to see that Severus needed her in a manner she had never permitted herself to know. In some ways, it made him seem less omnipotent to her, for it demonstrated a neediness he had never been able to communicate to her verbally. In other ways, it made her surer of him, to know that he required her presence in his life every bit as much as she required him in hers. Severus came to see that Hermione did not view her work as an escape from him or from their home; rather that it engaged her intellectually and stimulated her voracious mind sufficiently, which was as much a necessity to her as breathing. Finding that their separation had rendered her as unhappy and physically unwell as it had him made him feel more secure in her, to know that she could no more walk away from him without tearing herself asunder than he could contemplate a life without her in it.

Arriving in their home directly after the infusion was brewed, they had tumbled into their bed, both exhausted to the very marrow of their bones. Fully dressed, they had lain face to face, indulging themselves in touches and kisses that owed more to relief than to passion. They had fallen asleep in one another's arms, each clinging to the other as to flotsam in a flood. When at last they woke, Severus had insisted upon ordering food from the Hogwarts kitchens and feeding her with his own hands as he also fed himself, before he would permit an in-depth discussion of their separation. He had received her apology for walking out on him with a wordless kiss to her forehead, almost like a benediction. She had received his apology for his jealousy and his unkind words with amazement and a heart full of gratitude. Had she been asked what she thought was fair versus what she expected, she would have willingly admitted that she did not believe him capable of the kind of admission of fault which he delivered to her, though she certainly felt she was owed it. That he followed his words by carrying her to their bed and making earth-shattering love to her was much easier to believe. She wondered if he were aware how much more intimately they were bound now, by their joint confessions of wrong, or of how the amends they made to one another, in bed and out, over the next several days, smacked very much of atonement.

On a more fundamental level beyond thought or reason, they were simply enthralled in much the way they had been in the very beginning of their love. They parted to do their work each day but came back together in the late afternoons as if they had been apart for a matter of days rather than a matter of hours. If they made love less often than they had in the first frantic weeks of the Enchantment, they certainly spent more time wrapped in the solitude of one another's eyes, thoughts, and arms.

Hermione opened her eyes and tilted her head back to gaze at her husband's face in the glow of the hearth's illumination. His lips, in repose, were fuller, more kissable than she had ever seen them. The scowl was gone from his face, smoothing out lines of care, though the crease directly between his eyebrows remained. The inky depths of his black eyes when she met them seemed to capture her and hold her there, safe and imperilled in the same moment. Willingly, Hermione arched her neck, giving herself over once again to the jeopardy of surrender to Severus Snape.

Severus drank in the sight of his wife's half-lidded eyes as she moved them slowly over his face in the glimmering firelight. The scrutiny, which he had never been able to abide in his life as the ugly, greasy git, he relished in his new incarnation, as the wizard in possession of the most alluring witch alive. When she met his eyes, he gently pushed into her mind, willing her to allow herself to give over completely to the passion slowly and inexorably building between them. He felt the moment when she yielded herself to his will. When she offered her throat to him, he dipped his head to lave, then suckle that spot where her artery pulsed the blood from her fierce heart, to her fervid mind, and to points beyond, encompassing the legs which would wrap themselves about his hips, and the cradle of her womanhood, which would rise up to meet him, and meet him again.

Thus engaged, it was not until Quirk cleared his throat the second time that his master or mistress paid the least heed to him.

Severus did not raise his head, but rather spoke to the house-elf with his lips yet against Hermione's soft skin.

"Is the castle on fire?" he asked.

"No, Master, but…"

"Are you bleeding, Quirk?"

"No, Quirk is not bleeding, but …"

"Then _go away_ ," Severus said, now applying teeth to the spot which had been licked and sucked.

Hermione struggled in his arms, and he released her so that she could sit up.

Twining her fingers in Severus' hair, to let him know she had not lost their place, she spoke kindly to Quirk.

Quirk wrung his hands. "Quirk is sorry to be bothering Master and Mistress," he began, "but there is something being wrong with the kitty babies."

Severus actually looked over at the elf, at this pronouncement. "Are they ill?" he demanded.

"Well, one of the kitties may be having a fever," he allowed conscientiously.

"Then, what?" Severus growled.

"One of the kitties is too high for Quirk or the mommy-kitty to reach it. One of the kitties is being good. And two of the kitties Quirk cannot find."

Hermione surged to her feet. "You've lost two of the kittens?" she said.

"Quirk has not lost the kitties – Quirk cannot SEE the kitties."

Severus, now with an empty lap, pinched the bridge of his nose, as Quirk said, "But the kitties is always back when it is time to eat. Only, mommy-kitty isn't happy with the way the babies is being and Quirk does not know what to do!"

Hermione started towards the study. "So only three of the kittens are in the study now?"

Quirk followed behind her. "Quirk is only seeing three of the kitty-babies, Mistress."

Hermione said calmly, "You know, Quirk, baby kittens are so little they can get themselves into very small hiding places."

"Quirk can hear the kitty babies talking – he just can't see where they are," he lamented, following Mistress into the study.

Hermione looked about the study carefully; other than seeing Crookshanks, ensconced in the desk chair, flicking his tail with some annoyance, nothing appeared to be out of place. She knelt on the floor and peered into the nest.

"All five of the kittens are here, Quirk," she said gently.

Quirk looked over her shoulder. "See, Mistress? The kitties is eating now, they always come to eat."

"Which one has the fever?" she asked, her hand hovering over the nest.

Quirk squeezed under the desk and scooped out the protesting kitten which was a fair match to its father with its long orange fur. "This kitty is being hotter, Mistress."

Hermione took the tiny tomcat into her hands. He seemed to be no more or less warm than he ought to be. "The kitty seems fine to me, Quirk. I don't think he has a fever."

Hermione moved Crookshanks and sat in the chair near Quirk.

"Quirk, the kitties are getting bigger now, and it is natural for them to move around more and get into more mischief – they are just kitties, being kitties. Now, if something is truly wrong, I want you to come tell me straight away. But it is not a good idea for you to be disturbing Master unnecessarily. Master is a little grumpy right now, and it is best not to bother him unless you really need to."

Quirk hung his head. "Yes, Mistress. Quirk will remember that the baby kitties are getting bigger, and Quirk will not worry."

With a gentle pat on his little elf head, Hermione left the study, closing the door behind her.

Severus was standing before the fire when she came back to him and wrapped her arms about his waist, resting her head where she could listen to his heartbeat.

"Well?" he asked, the rumble of his basso profundo vibrating against her listening ear.

"The kittens are fine – but I'm a little worried about Quirk. Do you think he's over-stressed?"

Severus moved out of the circle of her arms, taking her hand and leading her to the bedroom. "How the hell would I know? But if he is, we'll take them _all_ to the animal Healer next week."

"Severus!" she protested. "That's not funny."

"Funny be damned," he responded, closing the bedroom door with finality.


	19. Chapter 19

Master of Enchantment

Book 5: The Christmas Rose

Chapter 4: Terrorizing

_Four Weeks Before Christmas_

Percy Weasley looked nervously about as he descended into the dungeons at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was not that he was afraid of meeting anyone – Professor Snape, for instance – it was only that he preferred to carry out his self-appointed task without any unpleasantness. Say what you will about Severus Snape, war hero, recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class – he was an unpleasant git and always had been.

Percy reached the corridor leading to the private rooms of the Potions master and began to make his cautious way in that direction. He had every right to check in with the researchers employed by the Office of Experimental Magical Solutions; he was, after all, the Assistant Head of the office. But he had been cut out of the loop, and he did not like it one bit! It was just wrong for Penny to hole herself up for days with Peregrine Smith and Hermione Snape at Simon Lewis' laboratory and refuse to tell him anything about what they had done. He had accidentally overheard a conversation between Penny and that jumped-up Goodwill Ambassador from Bulgaria, Viktor Krum – who did he think he _was_ anyway? Krum showed up and Penny acted as if Percy were a self-watering houseplant; she paid him no mind at all, just fell all over the belligerent-looking Quidditch player in a disgusting display of unladylike behaviour.

At any rate, he had unintentionally heard a conversation between Penny and Viktor in her office, about a supposed incident which occurred when brewing the Christmas Rose Potion. The telling of the story had been interrupted with revolting sounds of snogging and Merlin-knows-what going on behind Penny's closed office door; unfortunately, the Extendable Ears transmitted all of the noises in the room, little though he wanted to hear _that_. Of course, he had never _purchased_ Extendable Ears, but he had found a pair of them when he was searching the pockets of George's dragon skin jacket – only for a handkerchief, he would never have put his hands in anyone's pockets, otherwise! – and the Extendable Ears had come in quite handy when Penny was unwilling to include him in all of her planning sessions. She left the administrative tasks involved in running the office completely to his discretion, but that was not what he wanted – he wanted to be in the middle of the excitement of the experiments with the Christmas Rose Potion.

From what he had been able to hear between the snogging, the giggles, and the heavy breathing going on in Penny's office – and how very hard Percy had tried to keep from thinking of when the delectable Penny had been his girlfriend, and had been happy to receive his kisses in quiet corners all around Hogwarts! – from what he had been able to tell, some dodgy goings-on had taken place when the infusion of hellebore was brewed at Simon's lab a couple of weeks before. Penny had spoken of a group charm-casting, from which she claimed to have had a sexual experience! _Some_ people might think Percy was a prosy bore, but he certainly knew what kind of magic brought about random sexual orgasms.

 _Dark_ Magic.

And if Severus Snape had been involved in the incident, there might very well have _been_ Dark Magic involved. Snape was, after all, just some reformed Death Eater. And who said he was completely reformed? The higher-ups in the Ministry of Magic might not be too happy to know that Penny had involved a Death Eater in the plans and experiments in their office.

So Percy found himself creeping along the ill-lit, damp dungeon corridor, hoping to find Hermione Snape, so that he could attempt to gather more details about the episode. Percy had been around the Ministry long enough to learn that Knowledge Is Power.

Stealing along the passageway, he glanced at each door, surmising that Hermione's laboratory was probably around here _somewhere_ , but unsure of where, and as befitting a typical man, quite unwilling to ask anyone for directions. Reminding himself that he was a Gryffindor, and therefore brave, he finally chose a door and reached out to grasp the handle.

With startling speed, the door was pulled open, and Percy literally stumbled part-way into what appeared to be a sitting room. The obstacle which halted his head-long acceleration was not a piece of furniture, however – it was a house-elf.

* * *

Quirk's week had gone from bad to worse. After trying to tell Mistress about what the kitty-babies had been doing, he resigned himself to simply accepting whatever they did as a normal part of kitty-growing. That these incidences of kitty behaviour included feats of magic which were quite unusual for house cats, in Quirk's experience, was just another one of the facts of life as Master's house-elf that Quirk did not understand.

…because the kitties _were_ strange. Even their _parents_ thought so. At all times, the daddy-kitty sat on the desk chair and watched the kitty-babies with his knowing yellow eyes, save when they were sleeping; then, the daddy-kitty slept, too. The mommy-kitty did all the normal mommy-kitty things, nursing them, grooming them, teaching them to use their litter box – but she did not like it when they did the things that upset Quirk, and he wondered if perhaps the mommy-kitty was unaware that growing kitties get up to mischief, as his Mistress had explained to him.

Somehow, Quirk doubted it.

First of all, there was the smooth black kitty-baby, who looked so much like the mommy-kitty. Sometimes, she was right there in front of Quirk – but sometimes she grew so faint that Quirk could see almost right through her – and sometimes she completely blended into the background. If she was standing in front of the red pillow in the corner, the kitty-baby would become red. If the kitty-baby was standing in front of Master's study bookcase, she would begin to resemble the books before which she stood, which sometimes made it hard for Quirk to find her. Quirk called her Fader, because sometimes he could see her, and sometimes he could not.

Then there was the fluffy black kitty-baby. Sometimes, she would be playing on the floor with the other kitty-babies, and then she would suddenly be on top of the tallest bookshelf. Quirk knew that kitties could climb – but no kitty could climb that high, or leap up there with nothing higher than the floor to leap _from_. It really bothered the mommy-kitty when the fluffy black kitty would be up on the tallest bookshelf, because the mommy-kitty could not _reach_ the bad kitty-baby. Quirk called her Jumper, because she could go so high.

Next, there was the smooth orange kitty-baby. Sometimes, he would be playing with the other kitty-babies, and then he would simply be gone. Quirk did not know where the bad kitty-baby was when he went away. One time, Quirk had been in the tiny kitchen of Master's quarters, preparing a small meal for himself, sure that the kitties would be fine if left to their own devices for just a few moments. As Quirk was spreading butter on his toast, the smooth orange kitty appeared on the kitchen counter where Quirk was working. Quirk was so startled that he hopped back and squeaked. By the time Quirk had sorted himself out, the smooth orange kitty was gone from the kitchen counter. When he hurried into the study, to make sure he was not imagining things, the smooth orange kitty baby was sprawled on the rug with his siblings piled on top of him. Quirk called the bad, disappearing kitty-baby Blinky, because sometimes Quirk would blink and the kitty-baby would be gone.

The fluffy orange kitty-baby was the one Mistress had checked for a fever on the night Quirk had dared to voice his concerns. There was no other way to say it: sometimes the fluffy orange kitty-baby was on fire. It scared Quirk very badly the first time it happened. One moment, the kitty-baby was tussling with his orange brother on the rug; the next moment, the kitty-baby was an orange ball of flame. Quirk had grabbed a cushion and run over to put the kitty-baby out, like an accidental fire in a rubbish bin, but the kitty-baby had, just as suddenly, stopped burning. Quirk had approached him, and bravely felt the kitty-baby's fluffy orange fur. The kitty-baby was very warm, but he did not appear to be burned, even though he had been on fire. Sometimes, the kitty-baby caught fire when Quirk was right next to him, and Quirk would be singed in places. Quirk called the fluffy orange kitty-baby Flamer.

Last of all, there was the kitty-baby who was splotched with orange and black and white patches; Mistress said the splotched kitty-baby was a "calico." Her little face was neatly bisected, one side black, and one side orange, and her fur was smooth. She nursed with the other kitty babies and frolicked with them on the study rug, but she never faded, or jumped, or blinked, or flamed. The only peculiar thing about the splotched kitty-baby was that she often curled up on the chair with the daddy-kitty and cuddled and groomed and slept. The daddy-kitty never had anything to do with any of the other kitty-babies; he would hiss at them if they tried to climb up into his chair. The splotched kitty baby sometimes got a smoky smell about her, if she was too close to Flamer when he burst into fire, or she would be left on her own if Blinky and Jumper disappeared, as they often seemed to do, though Quirk could still hear them, even when he could not see them. It seemed sad to Quirk that the splotched kitty looked so different, and was left on her own so often. Quirk called the splotched kitty-baby Lonely.

Watching over and keeping up with the kitty-babies was becoming increasingly difficult for Quirk. Lately, he had found Blinky in the bathtub, lapping water from the drain; in the clothes hamper in Master's bedroom, sleeping; and once, curled up on the shelf in the larder, as if waiting for a mouse to dare poke its nose into the kitchen.

Fader had actually disappeared for an entire day earlier in the week; since Quirk could not _swear_ there was anything truly wrong with the fading kitty-baby, he had not dared take his worry to Mistress.

Flamer had taken to bursting into a ball of fire much more frequently. Quirk had actually earned himself a burn on his cheek when the kitty had caught fire just as Quirk was bending over the nest to count heads. Oddly enough, Flamer's siblings and parents were never harmed by the fire he produced; only poor Quirk and the rug and curtains of Master's study had suffered, thus far.

Just this morning, when Quirk had returned to the study from a much-needed trip to the loo, he had found Jumper actually _hovering_ over Master's desk, as if wishing to scope-out the unknown territory of the desk-top and report back to his partners-in-mischief.

Only Lonely was a good kitty-baby. She never hurt or frightened or worried Quirk. She was quite willing to let Quirk hold her, and she would purr and rub her bi-coloured face against Quirk's cheek. But then one of Lonely's siblings would do another Bad Thing and Quirk would be running about, trying to set things right.

The good thing about living in the study with the kitties was that Quirk only had to safeguard one room from them.

The bad thing about living in the study with the kitties was that this was _Master's_ study – and the kitties were beginning to Move Master's Things.

Quirk was willing to grant the kitty-babies and their parents a great deal of leeway – but he was _not_ prepared to abandon the basic precept of his training as Master Professor Severus Snape's house-elf: under no circumstances, at any time, was Quirk to Move Master's Things, nor was he to permit anyone else to do so.

One day, Mistress had noticed when Quirk was a bit more frazzled than usual, and sporting a blister from Flamer's latest burning binge, that Quirk seemed out-of-sorts. She had asked him then, "Quirk? Are you okay? Are the kittens okay?"

Quirk had mustered a smile for his mistress. "Quirk is fine, Mistress. And the kitties is just being kitties." Mistress had explained to Quirk that he must expect the kitties to get into mischief as a natural part of growing up, and he was willing to be brave about it.

As for Master, he never seemed to notice Quirk or the kitties, these days; he seemed to have eyes for no one but Mistress.

So Quirk was going about a usual day of kitty-baby-watching when the wards set on the door into Master's quarters let him know that Someone Was Trying to Get In.

Barrelling into the sitting room, leaving his charges untended, Quirk grabbed the door handle and tugged it open – and a tall red-haired man fell into the room.

* * *

It was Lonely who wandered out of the study with her tail held high to investigate the next room and the Stranger she smelled. Quirk sat the Stranger down in a chair and went into the kitchen to fetch a cup of tea. The very small kitten crossed the room behind the chair in which the Stranger was sitting, her little kitten nose a-twitch with Wrongness. Lonely crept beneath the chair in which the Stranger sat and sniffed experimentally at his socks, which only confirmed the kitten's suspicions.

The Stranger was a Bad Man.

Lonely summoned her siblings.

* * *

Hermione smiled at Professor McGonagall and offered her a tin of biscuits to go with the tea.

McGonagall looked around the room with approval. "You keep a very neat office, Hermione. It is a sign of a well-ordered mind."

Hermione chuckled. "I share this work space with Severus, Minerva. You would not care to hear what he has to say about messiness in his Potions laboratory."

McGonagall regarded her with some amusement. "I imagine it would be nothing I have not heard from his lips before." She took a sip of her strong, unsweetened tea and tilted her head. "I see he was able to mend his fences with you."

Hermione smiled ruefully. "We had some joint fence-mending to do, actually. He told me what you said to him – thank you, Minerva."

"I have never had a daughter," the regal woman said, "but I would have hoped to have had a daughter much as you are, my dear."

Hermione reached across the desk and lightly touched Minerva's hand. "What a sweet thing to say. Were you never tempted to marry?"

Minerva's eyebrows rose steeply. "What would make you think that? I was rather sought after, in my youth." Her eyes took on a far-away cast. "There was a time, before the beginning of the war with Grindelwald, when I quite thought I _would_ be married."

Hermione sat forward, quite interested. "You could not have been very old then," she commented.

"No, I had just left school, and was at University, reading Transfiguration. My –" she paused for a moment, as if determining upon a term – "special friend was a bit older than I, and doubtful that a marriage between us would work."

"Just like Severus and me!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Well, not dissimilar, certainly," Minerva allowed, sipping again at her tea.

"What happened? Could you not convince him?"

Minerva looked thoughtful. "I really did not feel it was my job to convince him. I felt quite strongly that he must convince himself."

Hermione shook her head. "If I had left it up to Severus, I'm afraid he would still be waffling about it." She cocked her head to one side. "Did he? Convince himself, I mean?"

"I do not know, my dear."

Hermione had opened her lips to inquire further when a loud commotion quite close by brought her to her feet. "That sounds like Quirk!" she said and rushed out of the laboratory with Minerva following closely behind her.

* * *

Percy was not at all sure what was happening to him when it first began. It felt as if there were tiny needles piercing the skin of his legs through the fabric of his trousers. He reached down to brush at his legs and bumped into a solid mass – then his _hand_ was being pierced by the needles. He shook the hand, to rid himself of the sensation, only to feel a dense object fly away from him. He jerked his head to look at his hand and was horrified to see long, thin scratches appear on his skin, where droplets of blood began immediately to well up.

"What the hell?" he shouted, quite forgetting his officious dignity.

The house-elf hurried back into the sitting room, splashing hot tea everywhere. "No, no!" the elf cried. "Bad kitty babies! Bad!"

Percy then perceived that his scalp was under attack. He craned his head back and saw a tiny black kitten with long black fur floating over his head. As he looked up, the little devil darted out one front paw and delivered a scratch down his rather long nose.

"Ouch!" the incensed wizard shouted. "Bloody hell!"

Quirk was trying to control his charges, to no avail. He could not see Fader or Blinky, and he could not reach Jumper. Lonely was being a _good_ kitty-baby, sitting over on the sofa beside the daddy-kitty.

Crookshanks was watching the display of supernatural kitten-hood with tail-swishing satisfaction, while his mate sat a safe distance away from the Stranger's feet, voicing her displeasure and distress at the top of her Siamese voice.

Percy thought for a moment that he was having some sort of preternatural nightmare. The needle-jabbing had travelled right up his trouser leg and he was having to use his hands to defend his manhood, while the _flying_ cat continued to scratch his scalp. Then another one of the damn felines, this one a bigger, black cat, sat down in the middle of the floor and began to yowl. The house-elf was trying to climb the chair in which Percy sat, to fetch the flying cat. Percy discovered that there was an orange kitten clinging to the sleeve of his robe and sinking its razor teeth into his arm. He was able to take a swing at the orange kitten – but it was gone! He looked around the room for the damn cat, and saw it sitting on the hearth. How had the little bugger gotten all the way over there? And wait – was this _another_ orange kitten? It was running straight at him, as if to leap into his lap. Well, it would bloody well learn what a bad idea _that_ was when he knocked it silly.

Or so he thought – until the running kitten burst into flames just before landing in his lap.

* * *

Hermione erupted into the sitting room with Minerva McGonagall hot on her heels. A scene of utter chaos met their eyes. Quirk was standing on top of Percy Weasley, apparently beating him with a coal shovel. One of the black kittens was levitating over Percy's head, while the other appeared to be clinging to the fabric of Percy's trousers and gnawing on his knee – though it was a bit hard to tell, because the kitten was almost transparent. One of the orange kittens seemed to be Apparating close enough to deliver a scratch or a bite to the embattled Percy, then Apparating away before Percy could retaliate, whilst the other orange kitten sat on the floor by Bast, watching the excitement. The calico kitten was sitting on the couch with Crookshanks, who appeared quite pleased with the proceedings. Percy was covered with scratches and bites and his robes appeared to be smouldering.

Moving quickly, Hermione snatched Quirk from Percy's lap and removed the coal shovel from his hand. "What are you _doing_?" she demanded.

"Quirk is putting out the fire, Mistress!" the elf wailed. "Oh, Quirk is so _sorry_ the kitties is being kitties _all over the red-haired wizard_!"

In the next moment, Minerva had cast a Shielding Charm to keep the kittens off of Percy. Muttering darkly to herself, she stalked to the fireplace, snatched a handful of Floo powder from the box on the mantel, and threw it into the fire. "Headmaster Albus Dumbledore's office," she snapped.

The Headmaster's head appeared in the fire. "Yes, Minerva?"

"We need you immediately in the Snapes' quarters," Professor McGonagall informed him shortly.

"Step back, my dear; I'll come now."

Minerva stepped back from the hearth and the Headmaster whirled into place.

"Good afternoon," he said pleasantly, stepping down from the fireplace.

Percy was examining the hurts on his hands and arms with a horrified expression. His attackers, not understanding that the magical barrier Professor McGonagall had erected prevented them from further harrying their prey, continued to hurl themselves against the invisible obstruction.

Thrusting an indignant finger in the direction of the kittens, Minerva said, in a voice pregnant with foreboding, "Albus, _what have you done_?"

Hermione had now plucked the hovering kitten from the air over Percy's head. The other three, realizing that their assaults were no longer succeeding, abandoned their task and scampered off the join their mother on the rug. Within moments, Bast was sprawled upon the floor, surveying the world through half-closed eyes, while the hungry kittens nursed, for all the world as if nothing untoward had occurred.

Hermione released the struggling Jumper onto the floor, so that the small black kitten could trot off to have her share of the meal being offered. With a murmured, " _Finite Incantatem_ ," she removed the shield from about Percy's chair and went to exclaim over his hurts.

Professor Dumbledore stood near the fireplace in dark blue robes spangled with stars and moons, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I really could hardly say what I have done, Minerva." He circled the nursing kittens, then cast a curious glance at Crookshanks, who promptly came up and butted his flat face against the Headmaster's fancifully embroidered robes. "I cannot say I had considered the possibility of this beauty breeding with a Kneazle." As he spoke, he bent to stroke Bast's luxuriant black fur.

Professor McGonagall stood rigidly before the hearth, bristling with righteous anger. "Well you had best find a way to _fix_ it," she told him, in no uncertain terms. Then she turned her back upon the bemused Headmaster and crossed over to Percy. "Come along, Mr. Weasley; you will want to visit with Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing."

"No, I won't!" he answered peevishly.

Professor McGonagall stood quietly, waiting for the former Head Boy to comply with her wishes. Finally, he stood with ill-grace. "Oh, all right," he muttered and obediently began to follow Professor McGonagall from the room.

Hermione heard Minerva say, "Good afternoon, Severus," as she and Percy passed out of the room.

Severus stepped through the doorway into the home he shared with Hermione. His robes were a bit less tidy than usual, and there appeared to be a bit of green goo in his hair. His eyes took in the humiliated house-elf, pacing before the hearth and periodically letting loose a loud sob; the Headmaster, glancing speculatively between the house-elf and the cats on the rug; and his harassed-looking wife.

"You didn't tell me we were entertaining this afternoon," he murmured to her with a sardonic lift of his brow.

Hermione chuckled. "It was a rather spontaneous party, I'm afraid," she said, going over to him. "Did you know you have aloe vera gel in your hair?"

"Certainly," he replied. "Mr. Babcock saw fit to share the contents of his cauldron with twenty-five of his closest friends." His eyes softened as they rested on Hermione's face; he made a motion as if to hold out a hand to her and she immediately took the proffered hand. "Is there a particular reason why Quirk is entertaining us with this conduct?"

Quirk, hearing his name on Master's lips, froze in place and looked miserably at his feet.

Dumbledore turned then from his contemplation of the kittens and spoke. "Your house-elf has had a bit of a bad experience, Severus, and I am very much afraid it is my fault."

"In what way could it possibly be your fault, Headmaster?" Severus asked, his tone reflecting a certain flavour of insolence.

"You have a litter of magical kittens here, Severus, which have undoubtedly been giving the elf a difficult time as they have begun to grow into their powers."

Severus turned to Quirk. "Is this correct, Quirk? The kittens have magical powers?"

Quirk looked up with anguished eyes.

"Why did you not _tell_ us?" Severus demanded, much aggrieved.

"M-mistress said the kitties is just being kitties, Master," Quirk said, his voice barely audible.

Hermione sighed. "He's right, Severus. He told me they were levitating and Apparating and disappearing and bursting into flames and I didn't really believe him."

Severus started at the last power. "Bursting into _flames_? You must be joking."

"No, I'm quite serious."

"No wonder that Weasley smelled of smoke," he muttered. He turned his fulminating gaze to the Headmaster. "Well? In what way do we have _you_ to thank for this delightful situation, sir?"

Dumbledore looked rather longingly at the sofa, but Severus did not invite him to sit. Instead, he released Hermione's hand and crossed his arms over his chest with an air of belligerence.

"Severus, did you ever wonder where Bast came from?"

Severus' eyes narrowed. "Many times," he answered shortly.

"I found her for you," Dumbledore told him.

"Indeed?" Severus responded icily.

"Yes. To insure that she would be able to stay with you, I … assisted her with a tendency toward Apparation."

"You mean, to make it impossible for me to rid myself of an unwanted cat, you gave her the ability to plague the life out of me!" Severus snarled.

Bast disengaged herself from her offspring and leapt up onto the high back of the recliner, touching her cold nose to Severus' fingertips, as Dumbledore replied, "At the time, I must confess that it did not occur to me what the consequences might be if she were to breed with another magical creature."

Severus automatically stroked the infinitely soft fur on the head of his familiar, while looking over at Crookshanks in some amazement.

"What so-called magical powers does that imitation throw rug have?"

Dumbledore smiled. "He is part-Kneazle, Severus. And, if I am not mistaken, his ability to detect wrongness in another living being has been inherited by the little calico kitten."

Severus frowned. "All of them – ALL of them are magical?" His head was beginning to ache.

"Yes, they are. For some reason they took a dislike to Mr. Weasley. But we cannot allow them to remain in the castle, with the students – it is too dangerous." Severus opened his mouth to retort, but Dumbledore forestalled him with a raised hand. "If I may suggest it, Severus, your house-elf should take the cats to your home in Wiltshire to look after them there. It would be best, I think, if he were given permission to use magic to control them."

At this, Quirk nodded his head vigorously.

"Will this be acceptable?" Dumbledore asked the Snapes.

Severus was glowering. "Certainly, send the fiends to Enchanté to burn it down – then I will have to live in this blasted castle until my dying day!"

Dumbledore had crossed over to Quirk and was smiling down at him. "Your name is Quirk, is it not?"

Quirk bowed deeply. "I is Quirk, Sir."

"Quirk, in a day or so, I will bring someone to help you with the kittens – someone who has had some experience with unusual magical animals."

Severus snorted. "I will NOT have Hagrid living at my house."

Dumbledore gave Severus a piercing glance from his blue eyes. "Hogwarts could not possibly spare Hagrid. No, this will be someone else. I will bring an assistant for you, Quirk – how will that be?"

Quirk bowed again. "It will be as Master decides, Sir," he said in his squeaky voice.

Dumbledore and Hermione turned questioning eyes on Severus.

Severus sighed dramatically. "Certainly; send any number of people to live in my house and eat my food. It can be of no possible matter to me."

Dumbledore smiled and clapped his hands together. "Excellent! Then Quirk and I will move the cats to Enchanté now, if you have no objection."

The old wizard waited as Quirk organized the adult cats into their baskets, dividing the kittens between them. When all was ready, Dumbledore pulled a sweets tin from his pocket; with a tap of his wand and a murmur of, " _Portus_ ," the Portkey was made. At last, Severus and Hermione were alone.

"Why was Percy Weasley in our quarters?" Severus demanded, apropos of nothing.

"I have no clue," Hermione replied, kicking off her shoes and stretching her back. She looked him over with a small smile on her lips. "I sort of like your hair with Slytherin green streaks," she teased, reaching up to gather a bit of green goo and hold it up for him to see.

Severus grasped her wrist. "Come along, Madam Snape; I need your assistance."

Hermione giggled and followed him willingly. "How can I assist you, Professor Snape?" she asked.

"You can wash my back, and I will wash your front," he informed her.

"You're on."

* * *

A/N: Kudos to my Slytherin and my daughter:he pointed out that Dumbledore could not Apparate the kittens to Enchanté; she suggested the Portkey and reminded me Dumbledore had used one from his office in OoTP. Good little canon Nazis, my family!


	20. Chapter 20

Master of Enchantment

Book 5: The Christmas Rose

Chapter 5: Rumination and Reminiscing

_Three Weeks Before Christmas_

The bell chimed at Enchanté and Quirk hurried to answer the door. Standing on the doorstep, looking about her in a curious way, was a female house-elf. She wore a very neat lime-green pillowcase and carried a small bag. Quirk stood in the doorway, gaping at her.

"Hello," the female said in soft voice. "My name is Holly."

Quirk closed his mouth with a snap. "I is not asking you what your name is," he responded. "What is you doing here?"

Holly reached into her bag and withdrew an envelope. "You is not needing to be rude," she reproved. When Quirk did not respond, she said, "Is your family being home?"

"Where my family is being is none of your business," he replied, snatching the envelope from her hand.

"That is a letter for your master or mistress. Is you knowing how to read?"

"What I is knowing is none of your need to knowing," he said. Turning his shoulder to her, he spotted his own name written on a scrap of parchment attached to the envelope. He clutched the scrap and laboured over the writing.

_Dear Quirk,_

_Please welcome Holly to Enchanté. She lives and works with a family of animal Healers and she knows about magical animals of all kinds. She is a nice elf and will help you with the kittens._

_Your Friend,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. Please deliver this envelope to your mistress._

Quirk looked up from the note and glared at Holly. "I is not needing _your_ help."

Holly gave up on being polite and reached past Quirk to open the door further, then stepped past him into the foyer.

"I is not here to help you with your family. I is here to take care of the kitties. Where are they?"

Quirk shoved the door closed. "I is the head elf in this house," he declared.

Holly looked around. "You is the _only_ elf in this house," she laughed.

"You stay here!" Quirk commanded, then walked away from her to the fireplace in the sitting room. Quirk threw the Floo powder into the fire and said, "Professor Severus Snape's quarters."

Moments later, his mistress's head was floating in the fire. "Good morning, Quirk," she said. "Are the kittens well?"

"Yes, Mistress," Quirk replied. "There is a letter for you from Professor Dumbledore."

"Very well, Quirk; step back, and I'll come through."

Hermione came through into the sitting room at Enchanté and took the proffered envelope. "Thank you, Quirk." She seated herself in one of the armchairs and began to read.

_Dear Severus and Hermione,_

_I have sent help for Quirk to Enchanté. Her name is Holly. Her master is animal Healer James Herriott. She has been trained in the care of magical creatures. Healer Herriott highly commends her abilities. I have made arrangements for her to stay until the kittens are of an age to go to proper homes._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Hermione looked around the room expectantly. "Where is she, Quirk? Where is Holly?"

Quirk pointed toward the foyer and Holly took one hesitant step into the sitting room. "Holly is here, Madam Snape, ma'am."

Hermione stood and walked forward to where Holly curtsied. "Welcome to Enchanté, Holly."

Hermione glanced over at Quirk, who was glaring at the up-start. "Quirk, have you prepared a place for Holly to stay?"

"Quirk was not expecting a house-elf, Mistress. Quirk had prepared the guest room upstairs."

"The guest room will be fine, Quirk," Hermione assured him, leading the way upstairs. "Come with me, Holly; I'll show you where to put your things, and then Quirk can introduce you to the kittens, all right?"

Quirk stood in the foyer, watching with horrified eyes as his Mistress led the quietly protesting Holly up the stairs.

"Oh, no, ma'am, please," Holly whispered in distress. "Please don't make Holly stay in the guest room. House-elves isn't sleeping in the family's rooms – it isn't fitting, ma'am."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the agitated house-elf. "It will be all right, Holly. Come along, please."

With an obedient sigh, Holly allowed herself to be shown up to the guest room.

* * *

Hermione seated herself at the desk in the laboratory, mild guilt pulling at her mind. Quirk seemed upset, Holly seemed uncomfortable, and the kittens seemed to be growing more impossible with every passing day. To top it all, Hermione and her workmates were growing ever closer to completing a viable test-version of the Christmas Rose Potion.

With a determined shake of her head, Hermione sent up a plea to Whomever might be listening to make all well at Enchanté, then threw herself into the pile of parchment before her.

* * *

Quirk stomped into the kitchen. Not only was that Other Elf sleeping in the Family Quarters, but she was telling Quirk how to take care of the kitty-babies! Quirk had been taking care of the kitty-babies without her help for a month! Well, aside from the rug in Master's study and the robes of that red-haired wizard, the kittens had done no harm under Quirk's supervision! He certainly did not take into account his many burns and hurts, suffered due to unusual abilities of Bast's and Crookshanks' babies.

A wicked thought came to him. That Other Elf might be sleeping in a wizard's bedroom, but he could fix it so that it was not such a nice place to be. With a grim smile upon his lips, Quirk went down into cellar to fetch the kitty-babies from their make-shift quarters below.

He was not Professor Severus Snape's house-elf for nothing – Quirk had learned some things about how to be nasty at the knee of a true master.

* * *

Holly sniffled to herself and unpacked her things. Why did Master send her away to this awful place? Holly was a good elf! She always did just as her master told her to do. She helped him with the magical pets that people brought to Master's clinic when the poor animals were sick. Was Master thinking about giving Holly clothes? Pushing that horrible thought from her mind, she was moving towards the bedroom door when it popped open without a knock and seven cats were thrust in, followed by Quirk, carrying a litter box.

Holly turned on the mean house-elf indignantly. "You is not to be coming into my room without knocking on the door!" she said in a loud voice.

Quirk kicked the door shut behind him and placed the litter box on the floor.

"This is not _your_ room – this is _Master's guest_ room, and you is having no business staying here!"

Holly's eyes dropped in shame. "I know I isn't," she agreed softly.

Quirk stopped in mid-tirade. Somehow, it was difficult to continue being nasty when the other person admitted their wrong behaviour.

"Well, if you is going to be sleeping in this big room all by yourself, you can just keep the kitties in here with you!"

"All right," Holly responded, turning to lift her bag from the bed. "Perhaps you can do as your mistress said and be telling me all about the kitties and their magical powers."

Quirk crossed his arms across his thin chest and glared at the Healer's elf. How, when he was bringing the kitties to stay in her room and telling her what a shameless elf she was to be sleeping in a wizard's bedroom could she _still_ be ordering him around as if she were Human?

Holly stood, showing no impatience, and waited for the stupid boy-elf to do as he was told.

* * *

The elvish warfare continued throughout the day. Quirk managed to do much of his communicating by speaking _of_ Holly _to_ the kitties. He would not prepare food for her, nor would he sit down to eat with her; he showed her where the kitchen was and adjured her to clean up behind herself because he would not do it.

Holly, on the other hand, simply delighted in speaking _to_ Quirk – she was telling him what to do and how to do it.

"You be holding Jumper while I tie her with this string," she said, pulling out a length of red yarn.

"You is going to tie her to the floor to keep her from flying?" he snorted. "Flamer will burn that string right up!"

Holly waited for him to do it, just looking at him out of her great big brown eyes. Quirk had to admit the she wove the string in, out, and about on the kitty in such a way that it did not trail about her on the floor, attracting the notice of her siblings and inciting them to attack it. When next Jumper flew, Holly snapped her fingers, and the red yarn obediently unfurled right into her hand, so that she could tow the kitten back down to the floor with a spoken command.

"If you pulls kitty down and gives her the command every time she flies, she will learn not to do it," she explained to Quirk, who pretended not to listen.

Next she pulled a tiny jar of paint from her bag. "You be holding Fader while I put a little bit of paint on her," she instructed.

"What good is a little bit of pink paint going to do when kitty is _invisible_? And Mistress is not going to be happy when kitty eats the paint and gets sick!"

Once again, Holly just waited patiently for Quirk to scoop up the wriggling fluffy black Fader. When he had done so, she carefully applied the paint to the tip of the kitty's tail. "This is being special paint," she said by way of explanation. "Master is making it himself. The paint shines in the dark and shows up even when kitty is invisible, so that you can find kitty. It's safe, even if kitty eats it – Master would not be hurting animals." This last bit was said in a tone of reproof, as if Quirk had spoken badly of Holly's family.

After seeing how clearly the pink paint showed, even when Fader completely disappeared, Quirk stopped objecting. Of course, Holly had not asked his assistance when she belled Blinky, placing a pretty green collar made of the softest suede about his smooth orange fur. The Anti-Disapparition Jinx which Quirk had applied to the room with Master's permission kept Blinky from Apparating out of the room, and the bell made it easy to find him if he Apparated into the cupboard or under the bed.

…which left them with Flamer. Quirk did not ask, but waited to see what Holly would do for the ball-of-fire kitten. The only thing she pulled from her bag, however, was a large bottle of what appeared to be bubbly water, with an odd metal attachment on top of it.

He did not have to wait long to find out what she meant to do with it. In a confrontation with Fader over which of them was going to sit in one particular spot on the floor, Flamer burst into fire. Holly calmly lifted the bottle and sprayed Flamer until he was a dripping mass of soggy orange fur, equally affronted and down-hearted. Kitty looked so funny Quirk could not help but chuckle.

Holly made a "shush" noise as she knelt beside Flamer and dried him with a snap of her fingers, murmuring a command to him. "You is not to be laughing at kitty; it is hard enough for kitty to be wet without you making fun of him," she said to Quirk.

Incensed at this final insult, Quirk stomped out of the room and let the door slam behind him.

* * *

Late that night, when Quirk paused outside the closed door of the guest room, wondering what might be the reason for the light to still be burning within, he heard the sounds of weeping. He reached for the door handle, then turned and went back down to his room off the kitchen. If the Other Elf was being unhappy, maybe she would just _go home_.

* * *

_Two Weeks Before Christmas_

Severus glanced up when the clock on the mantelshelf chimed five o'clock. Putting aside the book he was reading, he left the sitting room and moved a short distance down the dungeon corridor, pausing to enter an unmarked door.

Across the work counter, he spied Hermione sitting at her desk, one hand twirling an unruly curl as the other made notes on the parchment scattered before her. He closed the door and crossed the room soundlessly, stopping behind her with his hands on her shoulders.

Hermione started when two hands grasped her shoulders; almost instantly she registered her husband's presence, and she tilted her head back to look up into his fathomless black eyes.

"Hello," she said, pressing her shoulders and her head back against him.

"It is time for you to come home," he told her, stroking her cheek with one long finger.

"Time got away from me," she said, rising and taking his hand, allowing him to lead her to the door. "Is it time for dinner?"

Severus allowed her to precede him through the laboratory door, then paused to ward it. "No, it is time for you to bathe and dress for the Order Christmas party."

Hermione's hands flew to her hair. "The Order party! I had forgotten all about it!"

Severus smirked at her, motioning for her to continue back to their rooms. "I had surmised that much, actually," he told her as he followed her into the sitting room and closed the door behind him.

Hermione stopped in the middle of the floor, surveying him with rank suspicion. "Wait a minute. You do not _like_ parties. You whinge and wheedle every time I try to make you go anywhere. Why is it that _you_ are reminding _me_ of a party when I had forgotten all about it?"

Severus strode to the middle of the floor and took her into his arms, twining his fingers in the heavy curls at the nape of her neck with one hand and pulling her fully against him with the other. He captured her lips in a kiss that robbed her first of mutinous inclinations, then of thought, and finally of will. When both of her arms were wrapped around his neck as she greedily returned his kiss, he removed his lips from her mouth to trail kisses to her ear.

"They will expect us to be there – you would not wish to cause any offence by failing to go. I cannot have them believe that _you_ have become anti-social." He stepped away from her, looking down into her eyes with an enigmatic expression on his harsh features. "If obligation mandates my appearance at this gathering, I intend to walk in with the most desirable witch in the world on my arm. Do you have any further objections?"

Hermione went off to her bath in a glow, with her appreciative husband's eyes following her as she went.

* * *

Molly Weasley looked about the parlour at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, feeling a bit of vicarious pride for Ginny's triumph at such a successful first party in her newly renovated home. Harry and Ginny had chosen to knock through a wall into a seldom-used room, thus enlarging the sitting room to a nice size. The glass cases and moth-eaten tapestries which had graced the room when the Black family had lived here were gone, replaced with freshly painted walls and comfortable chairs and sofas, arranged in such a way as to invite relaxation and conversation. The enormous Christmas tree in the corner of the room was a-glitter with decorations and crowded with gaily wrapped gifts, many of which were the result of the name-drawing gift exchange the Order engaged in each year.

Dobby, the Potters' paid house servant, carried in a new tray of canapés from which Remus Lupin snagged a stuffed olive as Dobby went by.

"Hermione is looking well this evening," Remus commented to Severus, who sat at his side, sipping Ogden's Old Firewhisky.

Severus' eyes took in the radiant countenance of his bride as she sat with the other young women, admiring pictures of Hannah's and Fleur's babies. "She is luminous," he agreed, his own eyes shining as they rested upon her. "Will you assist me with something a bit later?"

Remus' face registered astonishment. "Of course I will, Severus; you have only to ask."

Severus leaned forward. "This is what I want you to do…"

* * *

Quirk looked at the bare evergreen tree set up on a table in his room. Mistress had said he could have a Christmas tree, and she had given him permission to use the Christmas decorations he had found in boxes in the cellar, but he was feeling a bit sad. Christmas in Master's Great Aunt Seraphina's house, where Quirk had been bred and trained to his position, was a busy time for the house-elves. The entire house was decorated, there was much baking done, and endless entertaining. Since Quirk's master and mistress did not live at Enchanté most of the time, there was little need to decorate and no need to bake or entertain. It was just a little lonesome for him.

As he sat on the edge of the elf-sized bed in his room, he noticed movement outside his window. With a snap of his fingers, he doused the light. Beyond the window pane, he could see that the snow which had begun falling that afternoon was now drifting in pretty mounds upon the front garden. Walking through the snow was Holly.

Quirk pressed his nose to the window and watched her. She was really not such a bad elf, after all. She could be bossy about the kitties, but she never tried to interfere with Quirk's management of the house. In fact, she was sort of stupid about how to take care of the house, which made Quirk feel better. He supposed that if he had been set to work in an animal clinic when he was just a tyke, he would know more about taking care of magical kitties than he did about keeping house – but it was really hard for him to admit that _she_ might be better at something than _he_ was.

He watched as Holly stopped in the middle of the lawn and turned her face up to the sky. He had heard her crying in her room every night when he went up and pressed his ear to the door. He did not know why she was crying, but it became more and more difficult for him to be mean to her. She was just an elf away from home; perhaps, if Master had sent him to spend a long time in the home of another family, he might be sad, too.

With sudden decision, Quirk stood and walked to the front door. He would say something kind to her.

* * *

Harry and Ron gathered up the discarded wrapping paper that had covered the drawing room floor in the midst of the gift exchange. Ginny, ponderously pregnant, smiled her thanks at her husband and her brother; the last thing she wanted to do was bend over repeatedly to stuff papers in the waste bin.

Dumbledore was showing off his seven pairs of thick socks, in the most lurid colours of the rainbow, to Minerva McGonagall, who was holding a large book which detailed the history of England during the time of Grindelwald. Arthur Weasley was excitedly removing his Muggle magic tricks from their odd packaging, while Fred and George donned their matching hats, which proclaimed them to be "Gred" and "Forge." Slipping away from their mother, who was trying to show her children the wristwatch she had been given, which was a miniature of her excellent kitchen clock, the twins converged upon the punchbowl with matching conspiratorial grins.

Severus had been sitting for some minutes staring at the leather-bound works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, which had been his gift from an unknown giver. He noted the passing of the Weasley twins and their progress to the refreshment table. The finely-honed instincts garnered from years of teaching adolescents served him in good stead once again as he advanced upon them from the rear.

George started and very nearly dropped the phial he held when the most loathed voice from his childhood inquired, "Brewing something, gentlemen?"

Fred gave his twin a look of disgust as George permitted Severus to remove the phial from his hand and sniff it.

Severus stood for a moment, his eyes closed as his nose communicated its information to the encyclopaedia in his mind. "It's a diluted form of the Euphoria Elixir," he said at last, handing the phial back to George.

George darted a quick look to Fred, who said, "Sir?"

"Carry on," Severus said indifferently, wandering away.

Remus was sitting on a sofa, sipping at his drink and watching Tonks, who was huddled with Luna Lovegood, deep in wedding discussions.

"Are you drinking punch?" Severus inquired of him as he took a seat.

"No, why?" Remus asked.

Severus smirked and sipped at his glass of Ogden's Old Firewhisky. "Never mind."

Remus made a mental note not to touch the punch. "Have you begun to shop for Hermione's Christmas gift?"

Severus curled his lip. "I believe I have that taken care of, Lupin. What are you getting Tonks for Christmas?"

Remus looked thoughtful. "I thought I'd get her drunk and let her have her way with me," he said.

When Severus inhaled liquor, Remus laughed out loud.

Severus mopped his face with his handkerchief and nailed Remus with a menacing glare. "Have you _been_ in the punch?"

Remus chuckled. "No, it's 'Dora – loving them changes you."

Appreciation glimmered in Severus' eyes. "Yes, they are a sneaky, conniving and underhanded lot."

Remus snorted. "You'd think they'd all be Slytherin, according to you."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "You think?"

"You make that sound as if it were a compliment!"

The other eyebrow went up to join the first. "I _meant_ it as a compliment."

Remus observed him for a moment, then raised his glass. "To the ladies – may they always befuddle us."

Severus put his glass to his lips, murmuring, "Indeed."

* * *

Holly stood in the snow with tears falling down her face and tried very hard not to feel so lonely. She had been gone from home for a week now, without a word or a sign from her master that he missed her or needed her assistance. What if he was training some other elf to do her work? Why did Master have to send her away at all?

"Holly?"

Holly turned in surprise, seeing the mean boy-elf standing there in the snow, watching her. Her hand came up to her face, wiping her tears away.

"I am sorry you is being sad," Quirk said gently.

Holly's lip trembled. "It is scary here," she whispered.

"Oh, no," Quirk said, taking another step toward her. "Master is not here, so it is not _really_ scary!"

Holly sniffled and looked interested. "Is your master being scary?"

Quirk nodded vigorously. " _My_ master is even _famous_ for being scary," he imparted with some pride.

Holly looked down at her feet in the snow. "Is that why you is so mean to me?" she asked softly.

Quirk felt really badly, then. "I is a bad, bad elf to be mean to you, Holly. You is not being mean to me."

Holly felt her face blush and kept her eyes on her feet, not knowing what to say. Quirk waited for a moment, wishing she would say something, because he did not know what to do next. When she did not look up again, he finally sighed and turned back to the house. She probably would never like him because he had been so mean to her before.

He actually heard the giggle before he felt the soft, wet plop of the snow thudding into the back of his neck. Turning with a suddenly much lighter heart, Quirk gathered a handful of snow and created a missile to hurl at his laughing tormentor.

* * *

Harry sat down next to Neville and Ron with a big sigh. "They all seem to be having a good time," he said.

Ron looked over to Luna, who was now recounting wedding details to all of the females in the room. "Can you believe I'll be married next week?"

Harry and Neville exchanged droll looks. " _I_ can, mate," Harry said, "the question is, can _you_ believe it?"

Ron nodded, never taking his eyes from his fiancée. "But she talks and talks about the wedding … is she going to like me when the wedding is over?"

Neville clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly way. "Sure she will, Ron. Then she'll get all excited about furnishing your house or something like that. Girls love being married."

Harry snorted. "Just wait until she's pregnant …"

Ron turned horrified eyes to his two friends. Neville nodded vehement agreement. "Yeah, they talk about that loads more than they do about weddings."

Harry, who had just been through the joys of a wedding, being a newlywed husband, and who was now an expectant father, enjoyed taking the piss out of his best mate.

Ron gulped audibly. "I can't pass out like I did at Hermione's wedding, Harry; Luna would never forgive me. Do you think there's some potion or something I could take to make me really strong on my wedding day?"

Harry glanced over at Hermione, who was sitting a bit apart from the other women, talking quietly with Ginny. "I think you should ask Hermione, Ron. Potions are her field now, you know – and if she doesn't know of anything, she can always ask Snape."

Neville blanched at this suggestion, but Ron looked thoughtful. "Great idea, Harry. I think I'll do that."

Harry chuckled and made a mental note to have a chat with Hermione sooner rather than later.

* * *

Ginny looked up excitedly. "You have five kittens at your house and I didn't know about it? I want a kitten!"

Hermione shook her head. "Not one of these kittens, Gin – they all have unusual magical powers and Dumbledore is going to have to place them in special homes. It's been a right nightmare. Besides, you're going to have a baby – you don't want a kitten."

Ginny looked obstinate. "Fine. But I want to see them – I'll bet they're adorable!"

Hermione cast a pleading look at Harry, wishing he would come and manage his difficult pregnant wife. Harry, however, seemed to be having a fine old time working Ron up into a lather. Hermione sighed. "Perhaps you could come for tea next weekend," she began.

"No," Ginny said, becoming more contumacious by the moment. "Let's go now – no one will miss us; we don't have to be gone for very long."

"Ginny, you're not supposed to Apparate after your seventh month!" Hermione protested.

"We can go Side-Along," Ginny wheedled, sensing that she was about to get her way.

Hermione stood then. "All right, but if you get nauseous, it's not my fault. I'll get our coats."

Ginny stood and began to follow her into the hallway. Harry saw her moving and joined her there. "What's going on, love?" he asked, slipping one arm about her shoulders and kissing her cheek.

"Hermione is going to take me to see her kittens," she told him.

"Erm, Gin? We have a house full of guests…" Harry began.

Ginny turned a stormy face to him. "I want to see the kittens, Harry, and I _will_. You take care of the guests, and I won't be gone fifteen minutes."

Hermione came down the stairs from the bedroom where the coats had been placed; she and Harry exchanged a meaningful look over Ginny's head.

"I'll look after her," Hermione assured her best friend as she helped Ginny put on her cloak.

Harry mouthed his "thank you" as Ginny and Hermione went down to the ground floor.

* * *

Hermione Apparated them to the box hedge at the edge of the drive and paused to make sure that Ginny was all right.

"I'm fine!" Ginny said, beginning to walk up towards the house. "Look how pretty the snow is in the moonlight!"

It had stopped snowing and the moon and the stars could clearly be seen in the velvety black sky. Hermione had to admit that the snow did look very nice on the grounds of Enchanté. "It's a shame we haven't decorated the house for Christmas," she said, opening the front door and leading Ginny into the foyer. "We'll go on into the kitchen, Gin; Quirk wasn't expecting us, so there's no fire in the parlour."

They entered the kitchen, where Hermione spoke a spell and lit the candles. From beneath the closed door to the left, there was a glimmer of light. "Quirk?" she said, going to the doorway.

The door to Quirk's room opened and Quirk was there, with the partially decorated Christmas tree behind him and Holly on the floor with tinsel in her hand.

"We is just decorating the Christmas tree, Mistress," Quirk said, averting his eyes deferentially.

Holly leapt to her feet, flinging the bit of tinsel back into its box and dropping a curtsey. "Good evening, Madam Snape, ma'am," Holly said in a frightened voice.

Hermione bit her lip and looked at Ginny, who was clearly struggling not to laugh. "I am glad you are decorating the tree, Quirk; that certainly needs to be done. Where are the kittens?"

"We is making sure the kitties is sleeping before we is decorating the Christmas tree," Quirk said desperately.

"Do you think you could bring the kittens to the kitchen for a visit?" Hermione said in a voice trembling with laughter. "Madam Potter would like to see them."

"Yes, Mistress," Quirk said. He grabbed Holly's hand, and they all but ran from the room.

"Did we just interrupt house-elf love?" Ginny whispered in fractured accents.

"Ginny, _stop_!" Hermione whispered back, her eyes alight with amusement.

* * *

Severus made another circuit of the sitting room, the hallway, the kitchen, and the loo, before stopping in the doorway with a frown on his face. Where had she gone?

"Are you looking for Hermione, sir?"

Severus looked down, and Harry Potter shoved his glasses back up his nose in a gesture unconsciously copied directly from the James Potter Book of Moves. Sternly reminding himself to behave, he responded, "Yes, I am. Do you know where she is?"

"She was taking Ginny to see your kittens; they said they'd be back in fifteen minutes."

"And how long have they been gone?"

"About twenty. I'm sure they'll be here any moment."

Severus stood for another moment, wracking his brain for small talk. "Thank you for inviting us to your home, Po – Harry; it is a very nice party."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Severus felt he had done his duty; he walked off without another word.

* * *

The young women who had been eagerly discussing Luna's upcoming wedding erupted in a burst of laughter, as they sat around with their cups of punch. Angelina pulled Fred down beside her and tweaked his nose. "Aren't you the sweetheart, bringing us all a glass of punch?"

Fred grinned at his twin, who was fending off a nose-tweaking attack from Alicia. "Score," George mouthed at him, before succumbing to a thorough nose-tweaking.

There was a clatter from below, then Hermione and Ginny came up the stairs, a bit breathless from the cold, and giggling. They put off their snow-dusted cloaks as they watched the rampant nose-tweaking going on amongst the young women and their men. Dobby, who took their cloaks, jerked his head in the direction of the punchbowl.

"Mister George and Mister Fred," he said to Ginny, by way of explanation.

"Oh, really?" Ginny said, marching off to confront her brothers, a martial light in her eye.

Hermione strolled away from them towards her husband, who had just spoken to Remus Lupin. Severus sat down and picked up his book; Hermione sat down next to him and placed her outdoors-cold nose against his cheek.

"I've been meaning to ask you," he said, without looking up from the book, "what you want for Christmas."

Hermione settled back on the sofa, cocking her head to watch his face. "I only want one thing for Christmas."

Before he could respond, an odd noise came from below – could it possibly be the kettle whistling? Severus put the book away from him, speaking quietly to Hermione. "Excuse me, please," he said and headed into the hallway; she could hear him walking down the stairs.

* * *

Dobby came bounding down from the bedroom where he had replaced Hermione's and Ginny's cloaks. The kettle was singing in the kitchen, and Dobby had not put the kettle on to boil! He would have to hurry, or the kettle would melt!

Remus Lupin, stationed in the hallway, caught Dobby as he rushed by.

"Sir?" Dobby said in confusion.

"I can't let you go down there, Dobby," he said softly, as Hermione quietly followed her husband down the stairs to investigate his odd behaviour.

Smiling to himself, Remus leaned against the wall at the top of the stairs. "In fact, no one is going down there, until I say so."

* * *

Hermione entered the kitchen at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, to find her husband standing with his back to her as he poured the steaming water from the kettle into the china teapot set before him.

"Severus?" she said cautiously from the doorway.

"I'll be with you in a moment," he said and motioned her into a chair, which had been set at right angles to the table.

Confused, Hermione sat down, never taking her eyes from him. Moving with some impatience, he opened a cupboard over the stove and pulled out a bottle of brandy. Seeing him there, in his customary black robes with the bottle of brandy in his hand, a sensation of déjà vu flooded through her mind, just as time became elastic and up-ended her into the past.

He poured a measure of brandy into the waiting teacup and pressed the cup into her hand.

"Drink this, Miss Granger. Slowly." His voice was quiet but commanding.

Hermione turned her face up to look at him; after nearly five months as his wife, she was used to obeying his will. Severus' face was impassive, but his eyes were fierce.

This was the first time they had been back together in the kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, since the night she had first held him in her arms, and they had felt the Enchantment flow through their veins like molten magma.

Putting the teacup to her lips, she drank, then stood and stepped up to him, placing one hand fearlessly over his heart.

"Please don't send me away, sir," she whispered, gazing up into his eyes imploringly. Then she reached around with her free hand, gathering a great handful of the back of his robes, and pressed herself to him, tucking her curly head beneath his chin.

In a move quite unlike the rigid acquiescence he had displayed on that night so long ago, he crushed her to him in a savage embrace. "Not this time, Pet – not ever," he said thickly, his voice heavy with import.

"You," she said as she clung to him, deeply moved by this romantic re-enactment of the beginning of the tortuous course of their love. "All I want forever is you. Only you."

Severus brought his hands up to frame her face. "I _am_ yours – beyond question, beyond doubt – only always," he vowed, then claimed the kiss he had foregone those years ago, before he knew that he was permitted to have a dream come true.

* * *

A/N: Deepest thanks and most enduring love to my beloved Slytherin, who collaborated with me so closely on this chapter. The idea of the reunion in the kitchen was his. 

To read the original kitchen scene, see the Prologue.

The Euphoria Elixir induces euphoria in the drinker, with occasional side effects of excessive singing and nose-tweaking, according to The Half-Blood Prince.


	21. Chapter 21

The Christmas Rose

Chapter 6: Marrying and Merrying

_One Week Before Christmas_

Hermione woke and murmured " _Lumos_ " to light the candles. She picked up her wristwatch and verified that it was indeed nearly 8 a.m. It was Ron and Luna's wedding day, and she had some errands to complete as early in the day as she could manage it. She stretched to loosen the muscles in her neck and back and sat up on the side of the bed. Before her feet touched the floor, an arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back.

She landed on her pillow with a giggle; then Severus was looming over her.

"Where do you think _you_ are going?" he said.

"I have to go to the Burrow and to Enchanté this morning," she said, reaching up to smooth the inky black hair, threaded with silver, from his face.

"No," he said, bending his head to plant first his lips, then his teeth on the pulse beneath her right ear.

Hermione rolled her head to the left, exposing more of her throat to him. "It's not Wednesday," she protested weakly.

Severus shifted so that he pinned her to the bed, holding his weight from her chest with his hands so he would not impede her breathing. "It is Saturday," he informed her, nudging her legs apart with one knee and insinuating the knee snugly against the juncture of her thighs, "and that is nearly as good as Sunday, which is second only to Wednesday."

"But what about Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday?" she inquired idly, running one hand down the lightly toned muscle of his back.

"I have not decided yet," he told her, applying slight pressure with the knee between her thighs. "We will have to try them out and see how they rank."

"Have we never tried them out before?" His activities were swiftly robbing her of the desire for lucid conversation.

"Never," he affirmed. "There is always only ever now, my Pet."

The Burrow would still be there in an hour or two, she decided, tracing her hands in parallel lines from his shoulders to his hip bones. It was time to take Saturday for a spin.

* * *

Hermione called out a greeting as she entered the Burrow through the door into the kitchen.

"Hermione!"

Ron barrelled down the stairs, his hair standing on end, wearing his pyjama bottoms and what appeared to be a Weird Sister's tee-shirt in approximately Ginny's size; his broad chest stretched the fabric so tightly that the words were distorted.

She smiled at him, going up to place her arms about him and hold him for a moment. "Today's the day – how do you feel?" she asked.

"I feel great now – it's later that I'm worried about!"

She stepped back from him and reached into her pocket, bringing out a tiny phial filled with a golden liquid. Making a production of checking to make sure that no one was in the sitting room or lurking on the landing, she pressed the container into his hand.

"Take it straight from the phial, no more than one hour before the ceremony is set to begin," she said in a lowered tone. "Don't let anyone see you do it, mind!"

Ron stared at the minute glass bottle with a look of wonder.

"Is it Fel –"

"Hush!" she hissed at him. "Don't ask!"

Ginny's cumbersome belly preceded her down the stairs with a sleepy-eyed Harry following. Molly had wanted them all together at the Burrow for the pre-wedding festivities, and the house was packed to the rafters.

"What are you doing wearing my old tee-shirt?" Ginny asked her brother in passing.

Ron looked down at himself. "No wonder it doesn't fit," he said.

Harry stood between Ron and Hermione. "All taken care of?" he asked softly.

Ron gave him a one-armed hug. "Brilliant, mate! Best idea you've had all year, asking Hermione for help!" Ron turned to head back up to his room. "I guess I'll see you at the hall, Hermione."

Hermione patted him on the back. "I'll be there, never fear. It will be a lovely wedding – you'll see."

The youngest Weasley boy grinned at his friends before bounding back up the stairs, two at a time. Harry and Hermione watched him until he was out of sight, then exchanged a wordless look of fond amusement as they heard him thundering the rest of the way up to the top of the house.

Harry gave Hermione a quick hug and walked with her to the door. "I'll see you there, I guess," he said.

Ginny looked up from her cup of juice and toast. "Can't you stay for a cuppa?" she asked.

"Thanks, Gin, but I have to pop in at Enchanté this morning, and I'm meeting with Penny this afternoon."

Ginny gave her a wicked look. "I hope you've given Quirk advance notice of your visit."

Hermione met Ginny's eye and they both lost it, laughing until tears ran down their faces.

Harry looked slightly ill. "I hope that Dobby doesn't get a girlfriend," he said.

Hermione bristled at that. "He has as much right as anyone else to be happy, Harry."

Harry held both hands up. "Okay, okay, just don't talk to me about it, all right? I don't want to think about house-elf love anymore than I want to think about _old_ people love. Urgh." He poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the table. "And especially not before coffee."

"Fair enough," Hermione said cheerfully, and with a happy wave, she let herself back out into the crisp wintry morning. Turning on the spot, she Apparated to Enchanté.

* * *

Hermione entered the front door at Enchanté and looked about her in amazement. The house looked lovely! Tinsel wound up the banister to the landing, red velvet bows adorned the door handles, pine boughs and sprigs of holly decorated the mantle – it was amazing how well Quirk had made the house look with the decorations he had found in the cellar.

Crookshanks came down the steps, meowing at her, with Bast and the kittens following behind him. Hermione surveyed the kittens doubtfully, but they seemed to be acting like normal cats. Bast butted Hermione's ankle and uttered a plaintive cry; Hermione bent to stroke her luxuriant black fur and said, "He misses you, too."

Holly appeared at the top of the stairs. "Good morning, Quirk's Mistress," she said, walking down the steps. "Can Holly bring you something warm to drink?"

Hermione smiled at the female house-elf. "Thank you for asking, Holly. Why don't we have some hot chocolate? I need to speak with you and Quirk about the kittens."

Holly's eyes clouded, and her mouth quivered the slightest bit. "Yes, ma'am," she said and led the way into the kitchen.

* * *

Quirk finished his weekly dusting in the cellar, making sure the wine shelves were free of spider webs and that the floor was swept. He was feeling both happy and sad. Happy, because Holly was with him, and Holly was the best friend Quirk had ever known. She liked to play in the snow, just like Quirk did. She liked to sing songs while she worked, just like Quirk did. She liked to say silly things and laugh, just like Quirk did. And she liked to catch him under the mistletoe and – well, there were some things that Holly liked to do _more_ than Quirk did.

He blushed as he remembered the first time Holly had kissed him. Mistress had given permission for them to dress the whole house for Christmas, and Quirk had begun to hang tinsel while Holly went outdoors. She was gone for a long time, but when she came back she had the pine boughs and sprigs of holly, as well as the mistletoe. Quirk had ignored the mistletoe for as long as he could, engaging Holly's assistance with the red velvet bow distribution and the arrangement of the pine boughs on the mantelshelf and over the front doorway. They had giggled and sung, "Deck the halls with boughs of holly," until their voices were tired, while they found places to put the sprigs of holly with the pretty red berries on it.

Finally, Holly had cornered him.

"Where is we hanging the mistletoe?" she asked him.

Quirk looked at his feet and muttered an answer.

"What is you saying?"

"In the cellar," he said more loudly.

Holly cocked her head to one side with a little frown on her face and Quirk noticed again how pretty her big brown eyes were and the cute way she scrunched up her mouth when she was thinking hard about something.

"Who is being in the cellar to kiss under the mistletoe?" she asked.

" _Nobody_ ," Quirk answered emphatically.

Holly opened her big brown eyes even bigger. "Then we isn't hanging it there – that is just silly talk, Quirk!"

"Mistletoe is being silly!" he snapped back at her, stomping into the kitchen.

Holly had stood in the hallway and watched him for a moment before shrugging her shoulders and resuming her activities with the red velvet bows and the sprigs of her namesake.

Quirk had skulked and sulked in the kitchen for a while, until Holly's serene singing to herself of "The Holly and the Ivy," had drawn him curiously into the hallway. When he peeked around the banister, Holly had pounced upon him. He had just glimpsed the mistletoe, charmed to float above their heads, before she had rocked his world by pressing her girl-lips to his astonished mouth.

Quirk's toes had curled in elven delight.

So had Holly's.

It startled them enough that they didn't do _that_ again for a while.

There had been other ways to play. One day after a fresh fall of snow, they had gone outdoors to build a snowman. Elves are handy craftspeople, and their snowmen actually bear some likeness to real persons. Quirk had shaped their snowman's nose into a large hook, given him black coals for eyes, and a large black handkerchief charmed to frame his face like long black hair.

"This is being my master," he told Holly.

She gasped. "Quirk, you is making fun of your master!"

"No I is not," he objected, gently pushing her down to sit on a nearby log. "I would _never_ make fun of my master – he is being the most powerful wizard in the world!"

Holly looked doubtful.

"Well, next to the headmaster," Quirk amended. Then, stepping behind the snow-master, he bellowed in a scary voice, "Quirk!"

Moving from behind the snow, he said in a tiny-Quirk voice, "Yes, Master?"

Darting behind the snow again, he yelled, "What are you doing in here?"

Back out again. "I is coming because you is calling, Master."

Behind the snow. "If I wanted you I would tell you!"

Back out again. "Yes, Master, I is going now."

Holly was overcome with giggles at this demonstration of Quirk and his master.

Quirk then sobered. "Master is getting rid of the Bad Man who came to Enchanté and Moved Master's Things."

And the entire history of Quirk's epic battle with Gilderoy Lockhart was poured into Holly's willing ears.

"And then Master threw the Bad Man on the floor and said –" here Quirk assumed his gruff voice again, "What is you doing in my house?"

Holly gulped. "And then what was your master doing?"

Quirk mimed thrusting a wand at an enemy on the ground.

"Master was putting his wand in the Bad Man's face!"

Holly looked at Quirk with utter admiration. "And what was you doing, Quirk?"

Quirk swelled under her adoring gaze. "Quirk was standing next to Master to help him scare the Bad Man," he bragged, rather inaccurately. Quirk had actually been in the kitchen, spreading icing on the cake for their dinner, but he had _heard_ what was happening, and that was _almost_ like helping, wasn't it?

Holly had hopped up, overcome with appreciation of his derring-do, and thrown her arms about Quirk. Her warm breath was in Quirk's ear as she said, "Oh, Quirk, you is being so strong and so brave! I is always being safe with you!"

And that was the first time that it was _Quirk's_ idea to kiss.

Realizing that he had been standing leaning on his broom for quite a while, Quirk shook himself and began to trudge upstairs. Mistress was coming today, and Quirk knew it could not be good news. The kitties no longer nursed; they were very well-behaved after their time with Holly, and soon they would be going to their new homes – and Holly would be going back to her master.

Quirk's tummy lurched in a most unpleasant way.

How was he going to get along without Holly?

* * *

Hermione entered their quarters in the dungeons at Hogwarts and looked around the sitting room.

"Severus?"

"In the study."

Hermione went into the study, which Severus had thankfully reclaimed when the cats were moved to Enchanté, and found him perusing an alchemy journal.

"Have you had lunch?" she asked him.

"No, I waited for you," he responded.

"Good, I'm starving!"

They settled at the table in their tiny kitchen with bowls of thick stew and crusty bread.

Severus watched as Hermione picked up her spoon, put it in the stew, then picked up her bread and nibbled at the crust. She gazed off into space over his shoulder, then put the bread down and grasped the handle of the spoon. When another minute passed without her eating a bite, he spoke to her.

"Shall I feed you?"

Hermione started and laughed. "I'm sorry, I was wool-gathering," she apologized. Then she took a bite of the stew, followed by a bite of the bread.

"See, I can feed myself!"

"We'll see," he replied sceptically, taking another bite himself. "What is troubling you?"

"Hmm?" she said, putting her bread down and playing with her spoon again.

"What are you thinking about?" he tried again, patiently.

"Oh – the Christmas Rose potion," she admitted, looking fully into his face. "We're so close now, Severus, but we can't get the base to hold – it keeps separating."

He nodded. "Have you tried taking it from the heat before stirring in the infusion of hellebore?"

"Yes."

"Have you tried adding the infusion of hellebore at high heat and keeping it just under boiling until the fusion occurs?"

"Yes."

Severus now had a marked crease between his brows as he mulled the problem in his mind. Hermione watched him, eating more steadily now as Severus abandoned chewing for thinking.

"Have you tried using the flat side of your knife to crush the sopophorous bean, rather than slicing it up?"

Hermione stood suddenly, startling Severus.

"I've got to speak to Penny," she said, a tiny seed of excitement in her voice.

"Well, I have no objection, Pet," he drawled, "but wouldn't you do better to finish your lunch first?"

"No!" she said, leaning over to kiss his mouth. "Why didn't I think of that before?"

She hurried into the sitting room, grabbing her cloak up from the sofa.

"Think of crushing the sopophorous bean?" he asked, following her.

"No, I've known to do that ever since I watched you prepare the Draught of Living Death in my sixth year," she answered him, fastening her cloak about her. "I'll be back by four, to get dressed for the wedding – this might be the answer, Severus!"

"What?" he demanded peevishly, but he was speaking to empty space as she hurried out the door.

* * *

Penny looked up, startled, when Hermione burst into her office. "Hi," she said, putting down the file she was reading.

"I've got an idea!" Hermione blurted.

"About the potion?" Penny asked hopefully.

"Yes! Can we Floo Simon?"

Penny led Hermione to the fireplace, where they sat on the low stools provided and Penny threw the powder into the flames.

Simon's untidy head appeared. "I hope this is about the fusion," he grumped.

Perry poked his head up next to Simon's. "What do you have, Hermione?" he asked expectantly.

"We haven't tried varying the stirring," she said excitedly.

Perry frowned. "Varying the stirring?" he said, unconvinced. "Hermione – how much difference can that actually make?"

"I've seen it make the difference between success and failure in a potion, Peregrine," she answered him firmly. "I say we should experiment with it."

"Let's try it now," Simon said, excited.

"We can't," the girls answered simultaneously.

"We're attending a wedding this evening," Penny explained.

"We can do it Monday," Hermione promised them.

"We can do it _tomorrow_ ," Simon said firmly. "My lab, two o'clock."

Neither of the other researchers demurred, and Penny said she would be there too.

"I _so_ want to make this work," Penny said as they ended their conversation with the young wizards.

"I think we all do," Hermione said.

Penny snorted. "I'm not so sure about Percy."

Hermione cast her a shrewd glance. "Yes, I have been wondering about Percy."

"He was at Hogwarts that day to try and get information from you about the brewing of the infusion of hellebore –"

"But we kept that from him on purpose," Hermione reminded her. "How did he find out?"

Penny squirmed. "He overheard me speaking with Viktor about it."

Hermione gaped at her. "Percy came to your _flat_?"

"No…"

"Viktor came to see you at the office?"

Penny nodded mutely.

"Were you talking with your office door open? How else would Percy hear you?"

"With his sneaking little ear to the door!" Penny said grimly.

"Penny!"

The Healer flushed.

"Were you and Viktor…"

"No! Well, not exactly," Penny corrected herself.

"You know how jealous Percy is of you! No wonder he's trying to make trouble!"

Penny giggled. "Wait until he sees Viktor escort me into his brother's wedding – that will put the cat amongst the pixies!"

Hermione pulled her cloak on. "Well, Viktor can handle Percy, Pen, but I would hate to see Percy make mischief for you at the Ministry."

Penny snorted. "I'd like to see him try!"

* * *

Later that afternoon, Severus leaned against the wall in their bedroom and watched with hooded eyes as Hermione finished with her hair and make-up. She was stunning. In the few months since they had stood before Dumbledore and taken their vows, she had bloomed into her womanhood. In the sunlight of her husband's desire and support, the uncertainty of her girlhood was falling away from her, leaving behind a woman of such luminescence that he was, at times, awed by the light of her presence.

She stood and went to the wardrobe; hanging on the door was the velvet robe she would wear as Luna Lovegood's matron of honour. The robe was the colour of cranberries, a bitter fruit of which he was inordinately fond. With her dark hair, dark eyes, and fair skin, she wore the colour as no fair woman could.

She twirled around and stopped facing him, smiling and holding her arms out. "How do I look?"

He crossed the room to her, took one of her small hands, and raised it to his lips. "An unfair question, my Pet," he murmured.

"Unfair?" she queried.

"I am a mere mortal man," he excused himself, stepping aside to allow her to exit the room. "Words fail me."

"We don't have time for that now, Severus," she said as she walked away from him.

He smiled to himself. Sometimes, his wife took him far too literally.

* * *

The Snapes entered the wedding hall and crossed the foyer into the main room, where Hermione stopped short to look about her in admiration. The room had been transformed into a winter wonderland, with white silk coverings hanging from the ceilings and the walls, as if one were surrounded by snow. Tall evergreens decorated the edges of the room; each one was dusted with magical snow and drizzled with silvery ice as if hung with crystal ornaments. On the dais where Ron and Luna would stand with their Bonder stood a truly majestic Christmas tree, elaborately decorated in jewel tones of sapphire, for Ravenclaw and in ruby, for Gryffindor, in honour of the bride and her groom. After a moment, Hermione perceived that some of the trees were camouflaging the refreshment tables, which would be uncovered and revealed when the wedding was over and the reception began.

Hermione turned to Severus. "I'll go to help Luna dress now," she said.

Severus nodded, glancing about the large room. "I'll just search for a place to sit," he said, looking at the myriad empty chairs.

Smiling her approval, Hermione moved across the main hall to the doorway through which the bride's changing room could be accessed. As she made her way down the corridor, she wondered what had happened to the wedding horrors Harry had described to Ron at the Three Broomsticks the night she had broken the news of her own engagement to them. It occurred to her that the Halloween Ball, which the Ministry had sponsored, had been arranged and catered by Gilderoy Lockhart, and it had been quite elegant, too. Perhaps being Obliviated had been beneficial to her old Defence professor. He had certainly done a lovely job of decorating Enchanté when Severus' Great Aunt Seraphina had insisted upon "giving" them Lockhart's services as a wedding gift.

Hermione reached the dressing room door and turned the handle to let herself in. She found Luna sitting before a large mirror in her undergarments with Molly and Fleur fussing over her hair. Ginny sat on a nearby chair, passing pins and combs to the other women as needed. The intricate dressing of the bride's hair was serious business, so Hermione sat down quietly beside Ginny and watched.

In truth, Ginny was a closer friend to Luna than Hermione had ever been. Ginny had been adamant, though, that she would be far too pregnant by Christmas time to look well in a bridesmaid's robe. Luna had then asked Hermione to stand with her, and Hermione had happily agreed. It seemed fitting, somehow, that she and Harry would be standing up with Ron on his wedding day.

After several minutes of combing, twisting, and pinning, Molly stepped back with a satisfied glint in her eye. Fleur clapped her hands together in Gallic glee. "Luna, you are beautiful!" she rhapsodized.

Luna, who had been sitting with her eyes closed, opened them and looked at her own reflection.

"Oh," she breathed, reaching out her fingers as if to touch her reflection. "I _am_ beautiful."

"Of course you are, dear," the mirror replied cheerfully.

Ignoring the mirror's comment, Luna caught Molly's eye in the glass. "Thank you – Mum," she whispered, a bit uncertainly.

Molly burst into tears and embraced the motherless girl from behind. "You are very welcome, Luna. I am _proud_ to call you my daughter."

There were several minutes of nose-blowing and eye-drying after that, until Tonks breezed into the room.

"What are you lot _doing_?" she demanded, pointing to the clock on the wall. "We still have to do her make-up and get her into her robes!"

Angelina and Alicia followed Tonks in, each with their arms full of gaily wrapped gifts.

The twins' wives each gave Molly a kiss on the cheek.

"Look at these! They just keep on arriving at the Burrow!" Alicia exclaimed.

"Thank you for bringing them, girls. Could you make sure that Gilderoy sets up a table for the gifts to be displayed, please?"

"Sure, Mum, we'll take care of it," Angelina assured her.

Ginny moved her chair closer to Luna's and Luna shifted so that they were sitting knee-to-knee. Ginny had her wand in her hand, and she deftly charmed the bride's make-up onto her face. Fleur stood just behind Ginny, watching critically and making occasional suggestions. It amazed Hermione to see how well Fleur and Ginny got on now that they were both mothers – well, Ginny's baby wasn't born yet, but she was most assuredly a mother!

When the make-up was approved by the sisters-in-law, Angelina and Alicia sallied forth to make sure the reception arrangements were well under way while Hermione and Fleur lifted the elegant white velvet robes over Luna's head and settled them on her shoulders. Molly then stepped in and began to fasten the robes up the back with the small silver clasps.

Hermione retrieved her bag and stood before Luna.

"Luna, the Muggles have a lovely custom that I would like to share with you," she said, smiling into the bride's eyes.

Luna smiled back. "I'd like that."

"A Muggle bride goes to be married with something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue," Hermione explained. When Molly nodded, Hermione lifted the heavy Goblin-wrought tiara from a box on Ginny's knees and passed it to Molly.

"This is our Great-Auntie Muriel's tiara, Luna, and all of the Weasley brides for untold generations have worn it," Molly explained, tenderly placing it upon Luna's blond head, and cleverly adjusting the sophisticated wedding coiffure to anchor and best display the tiara.

"That will be your something old," Hermione added. She then withdrew a black leather case and opened it. "This is your wedding gift from Ron and it will be your something new."

She turned the case so that Luna could see the gossamer silver earrings within, each a swirl of delicate precious metal spangled at irregular intervals with minuscule moonstones and glittering diamond chips.

Luna's mouth dropped open and her eyes filled with tears. "No, no, no!" Fleur exclaimed, rushing forward to charm the slightly protuberant blue eyes dry. "I began to cry just like that when Mum gave me Bill's wedding gift," she said in a comforting way, holding a sheaf of the golden hair away from Luna's ear so Hermione could fasten one of the earrings. When the jewellery was correctly situated, they turned Luna so she could see herself in the mirror in all of her wedding regalia.

The bride was a study in silver and white, like a winter queen. She was gazing uncomprehendingly at her own reflection when her father slipped into the room.

"Is everyone decent?" he asked in his slightly bemused way.

Molly moved forward to welcome him. "Come see your baby girl, Everard," Molly encouraged him. "She is enchanting."

Luna's father walked right up to her, taking both of her hands in his. "You are just beautiful," he told her, not trying to hide the tears which ran down his face. "I wish your mother could see you today."

Luna hugged her father, unconcerned about crushing her velvet gown. "She can, Da' – I know she can," she whispered before she released him.

Molly bustled over and handed Mr. Lovegood a handkerchief. "We'll just let the girls finish getting her ready," she said soothingly to the widower as she led him from the room.

Fleur performed another quick charm to dry Luna's tears as Hermione came back up to her.

"This is the handkerchief that Ginny carried when she married Harry, and I carried it when I married Severus." She reached for Luna's gown with one hand, murmuring an incantation and tapping the seam of the skirt with her wand. "It can be your something borrowed. There is no pocket to ruin the line of your robes, but when you _need_ the handkerchief, just reach for it and it will be in your hand."

Luna hiccupped a watery laugh. "I'll need that," she said.

Hermione knelt before the bride; she passed a lacy blue scrap to Fleur and lifted the hem of the robes. "This is an old-fashioned garter, Luna. Ginny and I both wore it, too. It can be your something blue." As Hermione held the skirt up, Fleur slipped the garter up Luna's slender leg, where it came to rest just above her knee.

Fleur and Hermione rose and stepped back to survey the bride.

"You're perfect, Luna," Tonks said. "How do you feel?"

Luna seemed to think for a minute, then a happy smile spread across her face. "Happier than I've ever been," she reported.

"Then let's go get you married," Hermione said and went to open the door.

* * *

Rita Skeeter spoke sharply to the house-elf in charge of the punch bowl and stopped to twitch the corner of a tablecloth into place. Gilderoy Lockhart was in his element tonight, directing the festivities at what would undoubtedly be one of the finest weddings of the year. He was giving orders to the "help" as a king might summon, encourage and direct his minions on the eve of a battle. Rita observed him with grudging admiration, keeping her distance so that he would not give _her_ any further busy-work to do. She skirted the edges of the madness, occasionally addressing remarks and instructions to the helpers in the acid tones so particularly her own.

Rita had been busily conducting quality assurance inspections on the adult party beverages for hours now, and she was near the point of beginning to engage the evergreens in conversation. From a safe vantage point across the hall, she spied two young women, their arms laden with gifts, speaking to Gilderoy. She slipped closer until she could hear the conversation.

"I am sorry, ladies, but it cannot be done! I have all of the tables arranged to perfection. We cannot change things now!"

Angelina gave Lockhart the smile that made Fred's blood run cold. "You do know who Molly Weasley is, don't you?"

Lockhart blanched. "Of course I know the dear lady; she has engaged my services and agreed to all of my arrangements!"

Alicia stepped into Lockhart's personal space and pressed forward with their advantage. "Well, perhaps you would care to speak with her about it? She is the one who wishes for a table to be prepared for the gifts, you know."

Lockhart had seen Molly Weasley in a full blown harangue and had no desire to be the focus of such a force of nature. With a graceful smile and a sweeping gesture, he bowed himself out of the picture.

"By all means, ladies, make whatever adjustments you feel are necessary." He glanced around and detected Rita, lurking just out of his reach. "Miss Skeeter will render you all assistance – won't you, Rita?"

Rita gave her employer a sour look and nodded her agreement. She watched him beat a hasty retreat, then turned to the two young witches.

"I have just the place for those," she said with an evil smile.

* * *

Harry sat quietly in the groom's changing room, watching Ron pace. Bill, who was sitting next to Harry on the sofa, leaned just slightly toward him, and said, "You're sure you've got a plan? So he won't pass out?"

Harry nodded, never taking his eyes from the nervous groom. "Yeah, Hermione and I worked it out. Don't worry."

Arthur Weasley approached his youngest son. "All right there, Ron?" he asked quietly.

Ron looked over at his father. "Great, Dad. It's kind of like just before a Quidditch match, you know?"

Arthur nodded gravely.

Fred spoke up, helpfully. "Nervous, but hoping you'll perform well?"

George guffawed, but Arthur frowned them down. "You'll be fine, son."

Harry stood and approached his best mate. "Now is a good time," he said softly. Ron nodded and turned his back to his brothers, popping the cork and upending the phial into his mouth. In the distraction of Arthur's reprimand, the action went unnoticed.

* * *

Rita walked past the refreshment tables until she reached the one laden with stacks of Lockhart's most recently published books. Wasn't it just like the gilded peacock to hawk his wares at someone's _wedding_?

"We can have these books cleared away and set up the gifts here," she said with false affability and nasty intent.

House-elves were summoned and they began to move the books with speed and efficiency. Rita watched them with idle pleasure; Gilderoy would be _livid_ when he saw how she had dismantled his portable "Gilderoy Lockhart's Book Emporium."

As she rounded the corner of the cloth-covered table, she saw a large paper shopping bag tucked beneath it. Curious, she pulled the bag toward her, then bent and lifted the book reposing in its depths. The tome was covered, oddly enough, in a plain brown paper wrapper. Rita opened the cover and flipped through the pages. Brilliantly coloured, glossy photographs of elegant wedding components met her eye, as well as text. Rita ripped the plain cover off, revealing the actual cover of the book.

* * *

Gilderoy turned and saw Rita just as she opened the book he thought he had carefully hidden beneath his sales table. With an exclamation that was a cross between a moan and whimper, he began to run across the hall.

* * *

Rita looked up in confusion, and in a penetrating voice, said to no one in particular, "Who the _hell_ is Martha Stewart?"

* * *

Severus sat to one side, watching the drama unfold as if he were immersed in a play. Skeeter had a book in her hands now, and Lockhart obviously did not want her to have it. He was running across the hall, dodging early-arriving guests and harassed house-elves with a look of desperation on his face. Severus leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in derisive amusement.

Who was Martha Stewart, indeed?

* * *

Gilderoy skidded to a stop in front of his so-called helper and snatched the book from her hands, shoving it back into its bag and kicking the bag beneath the table.

"Never mind!" he hissed at her, looking around to see who might have heard her outburst. Fortunately, the Weasley witches were off speaking to their identical husbands as the table was being prepared to receive the wedding gifts. The only person who appeared to paying any mind was …

"Claiming responsibility for someone else's work again, Lockhart?" the dreaded silky voice inquired from behind him.

"This is terrible," Rita continued, oblivious to the arrival of her nemesis. "Gilderoy, this person has plagiarized entire _chapters_ of your new book on wedding planning!"

Gilderoy stepped forward and placed his arm about Rita's shoulders, smiling down into her upturned face with the full force of his charm. "I have already spoken to my solicitor about it, my dear," he told her. "You do not need to worry your pretty head about it."

Rita gazed up at the handsome face, into the forget-me-not blue eyes which seemed to be smiling just for her, and forgot all about the Martha-Whatsis-thingie. All she had heard of his speech was the word "pretty," which had floated into her alcohol-saturated brain and taken up permanent residence.

"You've been working much too hard today, Rita. Why don't you go and sit down, relax for a while. I don't know what I would do without you."

To Severus' everlasting disgust, Skeeter blushed, simpered, and wandered off – no doubt in search of a friendly potted plant to chat with. Severus sneered at Lockhart, making no effort to conceal his complete disdain.

Gilderoy glared at him belligerently. "What do you mean to do about it?" he demanded.

"I?" Severus purred. "Why would I take action?"

"Because you are an interfering, disagreeable person!" Gilderoy blustered.

Severus' eyes narrowed. "I am an unpleasant person to cross, Lockhart, and you would do well to remember that."

Gilderoy felt that the collar of his robes was suddenly too tight. He pulled at it nervously, keeping a worried eye on the scowling devil before him.

When Severus felt that the imbecile had squirmed for long enough, he gave him a nasty smile, which appeared to frighten Lockhart more than the scowl had done. "I will take no action, Lockhart," he said. "I would not deprive my Great-Aunt Seraphina of her pet party planner."

Gilderoy sagged in relief as the dark, vicious fellow walked away from him. Then he grabbed the incriminating bag from beneath the table and scurried out of the hall.

* * *

Severus sat quietly near the back of the room, noting that the groom's side of the hall looked like a sea of red with all the Weasley hair. Next to him sat Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin, their hands clasped as if they were the ones being bound in matrimony. Just in front of him, Penelope Clearwater appeared to be glued to the side of her escort, Viktor Krum, and Percy Weasley was behaving as if his head were on a swivel, so frequently did he crane his neck to keep an eye on the Healer and the Seeker.

There, on the dais, was Hermione, her fire an excellent foil to the bride's ice; on the other side, beside Ronald Weasley, stood Potter, supporting his friend on his wedding day. The last of the golden trio was venturing upon matrimony; the triumvirate was severed and their alliance of old cast down. Now they were grown, embarking upon their individual paths, seeking their unique destinies – which damn well meant he could now mark Weasley off the list of people who might one day show up on his doorstep to monopolize Hermione. The dunderheaded duo would both have their own wives, be busy with their own lives, and have much less time to be a part of his.

Excellent.

Because Hermione was just exactly the kind of friend who could be counted upon in a pinch. It was one of the chief things Severus admired about her, though he decried it, too. She was entirely too willing to offer her ready sympathy to needy people.

Take, for example, the night of Yule Ball, at Hogwarts…

_As the headmaster had requested, he and Hermione were there as chaperones. She insisted it would be a good example for them to set if they were to dance a proper waltz. He grumbled, but he did not really mean it; he loved to hold her in his arms, and he was proud of the graceful picture she made as they danced. After their waltz, they made a circuit of the Great Hall, keeping an eye out for miscreants. When the students began to slip out of the room, two by two, Severus set out for the entrance hall._

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked him.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Shrubbery stalking," he replied.

She looked amused. "Must you?"

"Other than the pleasure of dancing with you, my Pet, it is my only bright spot in this whole chaperoning ordeal," he answered. His lips twitched. "Would you care to accompany me?"

She beamed at him, tucking her hand in his elbow. As he led her into the entrance hall, she said in an uncommonly loud voice, "What an excellent idea! Let us go out and walk about the rose garden."

From the shadows in the entrance hall, there was the sound of scrambling and whispering. Severus looked down his nose at his beautiful betrayer. "Killjoy," he grumped.

Hermione gave him a brilliant smile and continued out into the crisp night air. They strolled toward the fountain, which sported an ice sculpture of Father Christmas and his reindeer. On the bench there sat a lone figure; a girl, crying in the garden.

Hermione put a finger to her lips and approached the solitary child. Severus could not hear their words, but he could observe Hermione's actions. She conjured a handkerchief and passed it to the student; their heads bent together, and he knew the girl was confiding, and his wife was listening, encouraging, and counselling. Why was she so good? And, being so good, why did she want him? How could she bear him? Was she simply a prisoner to the Enchantment that united them, while he reaped all the benefits? Well, she seemed happy with her lot and with him.

And he would bloody well do his best to keep her that way.

A few moments passed, and the girl stood and began to pass with Hermione back toward the castle. Hermione allowed the student to go ahead of her, and turned to meet her husband's eye.

"Finished?" he inquired.

"Yes, I'm finished. Carry on."

She proceeded to the entrance, as he shook back his sleeves and drew his wand, advancing on the nearest rose bush.

"Twenty points from Hufflepuff, Mr. Babcock!"

* * *

Ron's voice was strong and firm as he spoke his vows to Luna; her voice was small, but her shining eyes left no one in doubt of her sincerity. There was a tremendous, thunderous applause as the ceremony came to an end. Ron and Luna made their ceremonial trip through the hall, arm in arm, now husband and wife. Harry and Hermione followed them, their own eyes shining as they gleamed at one another.

"I can't believe he fell for it again!" Harry chortled, as Hermione hushed him.

"You don't want him to find out!"

"I wouldn't mind. He would probably laugh, too. He did last time."

* * *

The doorbell at Enchanté chimed. Quirk and Holly were cuddled on the loveseat by the fire in the sitting room. Holly whimpered when they heard the dread sound.

"They is come to get the kitties," she whispered unhappily.

Quirk rose, and with dragging steps, went to answer the door. The sight which met his eyes confused him.

"You must be Quirk," the red-haired wizard said.

Quirk stared at the young man. This was not the bad wizard that the kitties had attacked, nor was it the red-haired wizard who was Mistress's best friend, along with Harry Potter. No, this was a _different_ red-haired wizard – and there were TWO of him.

"I is being Quirk," he admitted, bowing.

"Quirk, my name is George Weasley, and this is my brother, Fred. Professor Dumbledore sent us here to pick up the kittens."

Quirk stood aside and let the wizards in. Holly curtsied politely and then went up the steps. "Holly is getting the kitties ready to go," she said in a choked voice.

Quirk trailed up the steps behind her. "Quirk is helping get the kitties ready to go."

George waited until the house-elves were out of sight.

"You were right!" he chortled.

"I thought I heard Dumbledore telling McGonagall he had found homes for the kittens – they have to be the ones that gave Percy hell." Fred looked quite satisfied with developments.

* * *

The girls crowded around Luna in the bride's room as she changed her clothes and put on her travelling cloak.

Angelina caught Alicia's eye.

"Where did they get off to?"

Alicia shook her head. "I don't think we want to know," she said.

* * *

The guests spilled out into the moonlit night. When the bride and groom ran out, hand-in-hand, they were showered with confetti.

"Is that a flying car?" Remus asked Severus, staring at the Gryffindor-red vehicle.

Molly tutted through her tears. "Arthur just keeps on tinkering with them," she said.

Ron tugged opened the driver's side door, and Luna scooted across the seat. Then the door was slammed shut, the motor roared to life, and Luna was waving goodbye to the swiftly receding crowd as the car rose into the sky.

"It goes a treat, that car," Arthur said, wiping tears from his face and admiring his handiwork, all at the same time. "They'll have a nice, smooth trip."

George snorted behind them. Severus glanced over his shoulder and saw one of the more dreaded sights of his teaching career: the Weasley twins, looking immensely pleased with themselves.

"Been brewing again, gentleman?" he inquired sardonically.

Fred laughed out loud.

* * *

Luna snuggled up to her new husband and kissed his cheek. "How long will it take us to get there?"

Ron said, "Not too long, love. Then we'll be all alone."

There was a "mrow" from the back seat. Turning his head, Ron saw what looked like an entire litter of kittens there.

His roar was heard almost all the way back to the wedding hall.

"FRED AND GEORGE!"

* * *

The next morning, Professor Dumbledore arrived at the small cottage the newlyweds had rented for their honeymoon and ruefully retrieved the kittens.

"I should have realized your brothers were eavesdropping on my conversation," he said by way of apology.

"It's very difficult to take into consideration every possibility of what Fred and George might do," Luna observed as Dumbledore took the basket of kittens and Disapparated.

"How about taking every possibility of what _I_ might do into consideration?" Ron asked, pulling her back into his arms.

Luna gazed up into his bright blue eyes with happy contentment.

* * *

Hermione and Severus each packed a small bag for their holiday stay at Enchanté.

"It will be a lovely break to get away from the castle for a while," Hermione said as they walked through the snow to the Apparition point.

"It will be a lovelier break to get away from the students for a while," Severus replied.

* * *

That afternoon, Hermione met Penny and Perry at Simon's laboratory.

"There are times when adding a stir in the opposite direction can change the likelihood of success with a potion," she instructed. "We'll use small cauldrons and keep a record of each attempt so that we won't duplicate ourselves."

Penny held up her quill and parchment. "I'll take notes."

The three researchers nodded grimly, each concentrating carefully on their purpose. Two hours later, they were sweaty and grimy from standing over the cauldrons but no closer to a solution. Suddenly, Severus Snape erupted from the Floo connection like the proverbial bat out of hell.

Simon, who was closest to the fireplace, literally jumped.

"Sir!" he said, somewhere between indignation and outrage.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Lewis. I should like to speak with Hermione." He stood by the hearth, waiting for her to pass the stirring rod to Penny and follow him into Simon's small office, where he closed the door.

"What is it, Severus?" she asked anxiously.

He looked at her gravely. "I apologize for interrupting, Hermione, but a situation has arisen at Enchanté which I believe requires your attention."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously and he could almost read the thoughts as they passed through her mind. Was he manufacturing some excuse to lure her away because he was jealous, as he had been the last time she became this involved in her work?

Without waiting for her response, he continued to present his case. "It's Quirk. I think there is something wrong with him."

Now her eyebrows rose, in fair imitation of his most sceptical look. "Wrong in what way, Severus?"

"It is not easy to describe…"

"Why can't you just handle it?" she demanded a bit impatiently.

He glared. "For one thing, I have never had to know about the care and feeding of _house-elves_."

She glared back. "And I have?"

"Certainly. You speak with him voluntarily." She looked incredulous. He tried a small wheedle. "Besides, _you_ are the _nice_ one."

Hermione chuckled, in spite of herself. "Go on," she invited.

"He seems to be apathetic. He does what I ask of him, but otherwise he is either moping or wailing in a most annoying fashion."

Hermione looked at him from the corner of her eyes. "He must be really bad for _you_ to notice."

Severus nodded, much struck. "Indeed," he agreed, as if they were speaking of someone else.

Hermione laughed at him outright, then. "You are absurd, you know," she said, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "Poor Quirk – I did not expect him to take it so hard. Have you tried to reason with him?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I did. I told him that I understood he had grown fond of the kittens, but that he had known from the beginning that they would have to go when they had grown big enough to do so. I told him the headmaster had found them all good homes. I explained to him that he should be happy for them in their new homes, and he should be happy that he would have more time to himself now that they were gone."

Astonishment crossed her face. "You can't be serious!"

He assumed a haughty look. "I beg your pardon?"

Hermione sighed loudly. "Holly went back to her master today, did she not?"

"Yes, but …"

"Severus," she interrupted him, "Quirk is not upset about the kittens leaving. It's _Holly_ leaving that has him so distressed."

He stared at her with an utter lack of comprehension.

"Why?"

"Because he is _in love_ with her," she explained, speaking to him as if he were not quite bright.

"Are you sure?"

"Completely."

Severus extended a hand and stroked his thumb across her lower lip. "So could you have a chat with him, Pet?"

"I can't, Severus. Not now. We are a cat's whisker away from success. Later, perhaps." She caught his hand and pressed her lips into his palm. "For now, I must get back to work." With a final smile, she opened the door to the office.

"But what should I do about Quirk?" he asked somewhat plaintively.

Over her shoulder, she said, "You've had _loads_ of students – there is always one whose heart is broken while they moan and die a thousand deaths. Do what you do for them."

"Detention?" he said to the space she had recently vacated.

* * *

It must have been a Weasley idea, most likely conceived by the one that was about to pop from a _previous_ conception. He snorted. Apparently, at the Order's Christmas party, it had been decided that as there were no further evil sorcerers to battle, they would make war on some of the suffering left in the wake of the fall of Voldemort. To this end, baked goods and small gift items would be procured for distribution to the ill and infirm at St. Mungo's _on_ Christmas Day. This was not at _all_ how Severus had envisioned spending his first Christmas with his new bride. It would quickly become obvious to all who might be so unfortunate as to stray into his presence on that hateful day that Severus Snape was _not_ in a holiday spirit. The more he brooded upon the ridiculous plan, the more it festered his festive mood.

Even the method by which he discovered this do-gooder's scheme affronted him.

He had been delighted when Hermione had returned to Enchanté that Sunday evening from her labours in Mr. Lewis's lab. He thought he had been generous, giving her up on _his_ day off – particularly when he had been deprived of her for the whole of the previous day on Ronald Weasley's account – and he had felt justified in requiring some fair compensation. He was also looking forward to telling her how he had resolved the Quirk "issue" all by himself. In his estimation, his excellent management of the Quirk situation made him deserving of more of a reward than simply having his house-elf behave sanely again.

Then she came home, in high spirits, vivaciously exploding with joy, and his plans were turned on end.

"I gather you had some success," he said dryly.

She flew into his arms.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! It was all in the wrist," she joked, demonstrating. "It was the stirring pattern. It was just a matter of experimenting to get the right combination. Now we are ready to begin the trials. Do you know what this means?"

"We can try to test _my_ stirring?" he growled, possessively pulling her against his chest.

"Severus, I'm serious!" she protested, pushing away from him.

He had the grace to look somewhat contrite. "I'm sorry, Pet. Yes, I do know what you have accomplished and I am very proud of you."

"Sometimes I wonder."

It seemed that a change of subject would be beneficial.

"Hungry?" he inquired.

"Famished!"

"Quirk reports that our meal will be ready within the hour. That leaves time for you to have a glass of wine in your bath."

"Quirk!" she exclaimed, diverted. "How is he?"

He took her by the arm and guided her toward the stairs. "I will tell you about it as I watch you bathe."

"Watch me?"

He could perceive that his earlier faux pas was forgiven.

He leaned towards her, his nose grazing her cheek on the way to her ear. "How can you expect me to eat my vegetables unless I am anticipating afters?"

She curled herself against him invitingly. "You could join me – have a bit of afters _before_ dinner."

Gently, he prodded her to begin climbing the stairs.

"Tempting, Pet – but I will wait. That's why we call it _afters_."

* * *

While she lazed in the strawberry scented bubbles, Severus hid his pride by using a matter-of-fact tone as he described how he had contacted Holly's master. Each of them had shared similar stories of the distress of their house-elves. Severus pointed out that neither elf was of much use in their present condition and suggested an accommodation, to which the animal Healer quickly agreed. Holly could visit Quirk at Enchanté every Monday, and Quirk could visit Holly at her home every Wednesday.

"Wednesday?" Hermione inquired archly.

"Wednesday," he confirmed blandly.

She splashed him in a hopeful manner, but he ignored her gambit, merely casting a Drying Charm upon his trousers.

"How does Quirk feel about it?" she asked.

Severus shrugged. "I have no idea. He appears to be himself again, except for bouts of unprovoked singing – even though he sings outside of my presence, it is _not_ outside of my hearing."

Hermione laughed at his pained expression. "But, Severus – 'tis the season, after all!"

"I suppose so," he allowed.

* * *

Severus was happy to see Hermione's appetite back to normal – and then some. Much credit for the excellent meal she devoured could be laid at Quirk's door. In his gratitude and giddiness, he had provided a veritable feast for them. Amidst the assaults on the various dishes before her, as she wavered uncertainly between two equally tempting offerings, she said, "Don't let me forget to Floo Neville tonight."

"Longbottom?"

"Um-hmm." Her mouth was full.

"Whatever for?"

She swallowed. "He's organizing the Order's visit to St. Mungo's."

Severus became still. "What visit?"

"The one on Christmas, Severus. It was planned at the party while we were in the kitchen. Don't you remember?"

"As I recall I was _in the kitchen_ – how could I possibly recall something to which I was not a witness?" he said acerbically.

"Ginny told me about it later, and then I told you," she explained.

"No," he answered, "you did not."

She blinked at him. "Of course I did – I wouldn't have forgotten!"

His lips thinned. "I am quite sure I would remember something as ridiculous as that, Hermione."

She looked truly penitent. "I'm sorry, Severus. It must have slipped my mind with all that's been going on."

He waved a negligent hand. "It is quite all right. Simply inform your friends that we had other plans about which you had forgotten and that you cannot come out to play with them on Christmas Day."

Her determined chin came up. "I was _not_ aware that we had other plans, Severus. And it is not playing – it is doing something good for people less fortunate than we are. Besides, I've already committed us. I won't back out now."

The fresh scars of recent history revealed to Severus a wisdom which declared this battle already lost. He knew, even if he somehow persuaded her to stay home with him all Christmas Day, that she would be resentful and he would be disappointed. So he grudgingly surrendered with a sigh and said, "I will honour your commitment. Now, will you please enlighten me as to what this is all about, especially as to what I am expected to do."

Hermione obliged, her mood not appearing to be much dampened by his lack of enthusiasm. He listened quietly, assuming the role of the much put-upon and thus justly-grumpy martyr – a role he planned to maintain until Christmas.

Hermione was simply too happy to be fazed by Severus being Severus. After all, her hard work had paid off. The Christmas Rose potion was in test form and it was her first Christmas with her new husband – who loved her so much he succumbed to her wishes with barely a fight.

Thus, the shagging continued unabated, and a lovely Christmas was had by all.

* * *

_Christmas Day_

Quirk woke when it was still dark outside, suddenly aware that there was a presence by his side.

 _Don't move, Quirk,_ he thought.

Reaching carefully up by the juncture of his shoulder and his neck, his hand encountered a familiar softness. Feeling suddenly both excited and worried at once, he snapped his fingers and lit the candles.

Curled up, in a purring ball by his face, was Lonely-the-splotched kitty.

"Kitty," he whispered, "you is not supposed to _being_ here!"

Lonely blinked her big green eyes at him and said, "Mrow?"

Quirk then noticed the shiny red ribbon tied about her neck, with a note attached. With shaking fingers, he untied the ribbon and read the note.

Dear Quirk,

Happy Christmas! Because you have been such a good house-elf, Lonely is coming to live with you and be your kitty.

Father Christmas

P.S. Your mistress says it is okay.

* * *

Severus followed Hermione through the corridors of St. Mungo's, as she visited ward after ward of those who were too ill to be in their own homes for Christmas. It was too much to have hoped that they would go unrecognized; time after time he was forced to acknowledge the murmurs of, "Happy Christmas, Professor Snape," with at least the appearance of good grace. He curbed his instinct to snap and snarl at the poor buggers; he recognized many of them as former students and some of them as former classmates. Seeing them infirm was not an easy task.

Hermione amazed him. She was never at a loss, shaking hands and exchanging a kind word with each person who spoke her name or reached a hand to her. Severus was careful to keep his hands out of sight, so that he was not required to touch anyone.

At last, Hermione paused before the door into the Curse Damage ward. Turning to him, she said quietly, "These people are the ones who will test the Christmas Rose potion, on a volunteer basis." Her voice quavered. "If it is successful, some of them will be able to leave here one day."

He nodded his understanding as she pushed the door open.

A Healer in lime green robes turned when they entered and smiled as she came towards them. "Hermione! Happy Christmas!"

Hermione shook hands with the woman, then presented her to Severus. "Miriam, this is my husband, Professor Snape. Severus, this is Healer Watson."

Severus inclined his head respectfully, and from the bed nearest him, the excited murmur ran down the ward.

"Snape – Hermione – research – war hero –"

Healer Watson led them to a bed where a young man sat, his legs dangling over the edge. Sitting in a chair by his side was a young woman and standing next to her was a serious-eyed boy of five or six.

"This is Aubrey Brownlow, Mrs. Brownlow, and young William," the Healer said by way of introduction. "Aubrey was an Auror, and he was injured with the Cruciatus Curse in the first Battle of Godric's Hollow."

Hermione greeted the family, then took the man's hand and began to speak to him. Severus was stirred to painful memory, and the room faded away.

How many people had he personally hurt, as this man had been hurt? Why had he done it? Because of anger? Hatred? Then, when he had turned spy, why had he done _that_? Because he was afraid for himself? So he could earn his salvation? When had his choices ever been about anyone but himself? And when had his actions ever benefited anyone but himself?

Yet here was Hermione, whose driving force was to do right, regardless of her own benefit or her own loss. This was how she chose to spend her energies and where she chose to exercise that incredible intelligence – in the service of a good beyond herself.

He started as Hermione found his hand and held it tightly, her eyes fixed on the face of the young man who was speaking to her.

"They gave me my first dose last night, before I went to sleep," Aubrey Brownlow said, his voice filled with wonder.

Severus was uncomfortable as the man continued to speak; the tears in the Auror's eyes had begun to fall, and Severus had no clue how to react to this show of emotion.

"Last night – when I fell asleep – I couldn't move my legs, ma'am. I haven't been able to move my legs in three years. It was one of those Death Eaters who got me, you know, got me from the rear and kept on and on until I thought I would lose my mind."  
Severus groped with his free hand for the handkerchief in his pocket and silently offered it to the stranger, who gratefully accepted it and wiped the tears from his face.

"When I woke up this morning, I could move my toes – see?"

The Snapes looked down obediently and watched the toes in question – they were definitely wriggling. Mrs. Brownlow and Hermione were crying now, too.

"It's working, ma'am. I'm going to get better – get well – I'm going to walk out of this place…"

* * *

The snow had begun to fall again as the Snapes made their way from the box hedge at the edge of the drive, up to the door of Enchanté.

Severus stopped, and reached out to pull Hermione into his arms. "Happy Christmas, wife," he murmured into her hair.

"Thank you for going with me," she said. "I know you didn't want to be part of that."

Severus could not trust his voice to tell her she was wrong; he simply held her more tightly in the dusk of their first Christmas as husband and wife.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: This piece is set two years after The Christmas Rose.

* * *

Master of Enchantment

Book 6: Mr Alister Comes Home: A Master of Enchantment Christmas Story

Hermione moved restlessly in her sleep, and the midnight eyes of her companion opened: He was instantly awake. He reached for her and pulled her surely into his arms, pressing the length of his body along hers, establishing as much skin-to-skin contact as he could. As he held her, a tremendous sense of well-being flooded him; he could feel his heart rate slow and steady, matching her rhythm. As The Enchantment thrummed through, working its magic between them, Hermione stilled, the comfort of his presence soothing her, even in sleep. For a time, Severus Snape lay in the seamless dark, his wife held to his heart. At last, his eyes fluttered closed, lulled to sleep by the peace pervading the soul he'd once doubted he possessed.

* * *

The crowding was not too bad, really – and Hermione had got him somewhat used to close proximity with other people. No, it was the cacophony that grated on his nerves. How could twelve adults and five babies create such a racket?

The ceremony itself had not been too alarming. He and Hermione had flanked Lupin and Tonks and their infant as it – she – was officially named, for Severus and Hermione had stood godfather and godmother to Stella Lupin. Severus was damnably uncomfortable with the whole business – who in their right mind would want a former Death Eater as godfather to their offspring? – but Hermione had insisted that he was the bravest and most honourable man of her acquaintance, and that any parent would rest easier knowing Severus was there, prepared to step into the child's life, if needed. Besides, she also insisted it was a great mark of Lupin's regard for him – as a friend – and loath though he was to admit it, he would not willingly give offence to the only friend he'd made since his Death Eater days.

Now they were all crammed into the Lupins' Hogwarts quarters, sipping tea and eating cakes, for nothing more fortifying was on offer, more's the pity. Severus had done what he could to convince Hermione to skip the after-event gathering, but she had protested that she really wanted to see all of her friends … and their exceptionally vocal spawn.

From his safe harbour in the corner of the room, he watched his wife interact with her particular friends. She sat on a sofa beside her boss, Penelope Clearwater – now Krum. Penny had permitted her Quidditch-mad husband to name their son 'Vladimir'. The child was undoubtedly destined to be the butt of jokes for the entirety of his school career. Hopefully, it would occur at Durmstrang, outside Severus' sphere.

On her knee, Hermione dandled the unfortunate-looking Vlad, who was possessed of his father's hooked nose and his mother's curly hair. Severus paused for a long moment to consider that a child of his and Hermione's might resemble … no. No, _their_ child would be more presentable-looking than this sad specimen.

Not that they were planning to have a child; Hermione's career was very busy.

The largest of the knee-biters was Longbottom's son, a trusting little soul by the name of Frank. Frank wandered through the forest of adult legs, seeking biscuits. Young Frank had discovered a scrap of parchment on the rug just in front of Severus, and the toddler had bent to pick up the fascinating object. It had taken all of Severus' resolution not to plant his boot in the middle of the nappy-padded bottom and gently nudge Master Longbottom onto his face. It would serve the little bugger right – and Longbottom himself would never manage to teach his child about the unkindness of the world at large.

The next-largest noise-maker was Potter's son, who was rather unimaginatively named James. James Potter did not bear the least resemblance to either his father or his paternal grandfather; the child had been fortunate enough to inherit his mother's red hair and brown eyes. On the unfortunate side of the ledger, he had inherited both his mother's and his father's intrepidity of spirit, and he careened gleefully from one narrowly-averted disaster to the next. Potter and his wife didn't have one quiet moment; one or the other of them was constantly retrieving the child from mischief-making. And Mrs Potter had earlier announced the coming of another child in eight months' time. Severus gave a mental shrug. Well, as long as they kept their calamitous brood far away from him, what difference did it make?

The least offensive of all the congregated wee ones was Diana Weasley. Severus knew her age because she had been born on Christmas, scarcely a year after her parents had married; she would be one year old in a month. Of all the babies, Ronald Weasley's daughter was the only quiet one. Held upon her mother's shoulder, she surveyed the assemblage with enormous, slightly protruding grey eyes. In defiance of the genetic imperative, Luna Lovegood's daughter had her mother's fair hair. For some reason, little Miss Diana Weasley seemed to find Severus interesting, for she was staring at him with her wide, curious eyes.

Darting his eyes from left to right to ascertain that he was not being observed, he made a rather fierce face at Weasley's infant daughter. To his annoyance, Diana treated this discouraging action as a delight. A huge smile graced her formerly solemn face, and she let out a trill of laughter, which drew a vague smile and a pat from her mother, but no one else responded. After all, the room was full of baby noises.

Severus glared down at the teacup and saucer in his hand, not wishing to be caught out playing with a baby. No one paid the least heed to him, however; they were all chatting to such a degree that his antics had gone unnoticed. He sighed and sipped, darting a surreptitious glance at the clock over the mantelpiece – how long must he endure this nonsense before he could safely abscond with his wife back to their own rooms?

A rather insistent tug at his trouser leg caused him to look downward and to find Diana Weasley sitting on the floor in front of him, smiling a baby smile and drooling on his well-polished boots. How on earth had she got over here? Had her mother simply set her down? Were such tiny creatures allowed to crawl about with impunity? What was the world coming to?

'Oh, look, Severus,' Hermione said, abandoning the Krums to advance upon him. 'Baby Diana has come to see you.'

His lips thinned; this was scarcely news to him. His tiny tormentor raised two chubby hands to him.

'What does it want?' he hissed to Hermione.

' _She_ , Severus – not _it_!' Hermione admonished, bending and scooping the giggling baby into her arms. 'She's taken a fancy to you, I think – she wants you to hold her!'

Ronald Weasley's daughter, then, was deceptively innocent-looking – in truth, she was a daemon, set upon making him ridiculous in a roomful of former students and their spouses. Now the diminutive monkey-like creature strained toward him from Hermione's arms, her little hands outstretched.

'Put down your cup and hold her,' Hermione said, admiring the baby as if she was a genius of epic proportions.

'I don't hold infants!' he muttered out of the side of his mouth.

He was startled when a silent Luna Weasley plucked his teacup from him, gesturing with her free hand, as if to say, 'Hold my child.'

Without further ado, his loving wife thrust the squirming bit of humanity into his arms and then had the audacity to stand back and watch him with a fatuously fond expression as the enthusiastic daemon-child finally accomplished what had apparently been her fascination from the beginning: She grasped his nose and squealed with glee.

He stood like a statue as the occupants of the room turned to stare – some to laugh, and these he made a mental note of – until Mrs Weasley peeled the offending tiny hand from his face, and Hermione removed the child once again, a look of utter contrition upon her stricken face.

Never mind. In the privacy of their bedroom, she would be made to pay dearly for the indignities he had suffered today. It was the one bright spot in the whole damn affair.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione stared at her husband with acute indignation. 'You can't be serious!' she cried.

He quirked one infuriating eyebrow at her. 'I never joke about marking,' he replied, folding his hands behind his head and smirking at the ceiling.

'But she's _your_ aunt!' Hermione rejoined hotly, 'Your scary old dragon of an aunt!'

He turned his head slightly to see her morning-bushy brown hair spread over her pillow. 'She's your aunt, too,' he pointed out. ' _Madam_ Snape,' he added with unnecessary emphasis.

Hermione hunched a shoulder at him, turning on her side and presenting him with her smooth, bare back. 'You could have been marking those papers last night, instead of playing chess with the Headmaster!' she said. 'You did this on purpose so you wouldn't have to see Great Aunt Seraphina!' She punched her pillow to improve its position under her head. 'I loathe her!'

Severus moved onto his side, propped on one elbow, looking down at his wife's face. 'You don't mean that,' he cajoled, dropping a kiss on her bare shoulder and moving her hair to one side. 'And she's very fond of you,' he added, his over-large nose nuzzling the back of her neck. 'In fact,' he said, his breath now warm on her ear, 'she prefers you to me.'

'Don't think you can get around me with sweet talk,' she said crossly. 'And stop cuddling! I'm getting up!'

He tugged her over onto her back, neatly trapping her wrists as he loomed over her, his half-lidded ebony eyes full of a heat thatcommunicated itself to her in spite of her pique.

'You don't mean that, either,' he said silkily as his head lowered to claim her lips in a burning kiss.

The hell of it was, he was quite right.

* * *

Great Aunt Seraphina never came to visit them at Hogwarts. No, when she wanted to visit them, she went to Enchanté, their home in Wiltshire, which she had redecorated for them, as a wedding gift. Severus said she wouldn't come to Hogwarts because she didn't get along with Dumbledore, but Hermione believed Great Aunt Seraphina liked coming to Enchanté to check up on Hermione's homemaking skills.

Hermione met Great Aunt Seraphina at the door of Enchanté, a determined smile of welcome fixed upon her face. Quirk, the house-elf, had taken care to make the sitting room warm and inviting, and Hermione had Apparated in well in advance of the appointed time, in spite of Severus' morning delaying tactics.

'You're looking well,' the old witch declared as she swept past Hermione into the entryway.

'Thank you,' Hermione said, desperately looking for something she could sincerely compliment about the elderly woman's ensemble.

Great Aunt Seraphina unfastened her forest green cloak and waited for Hermione to lift it from her shoulders before she settled into the most comfortable armchair. She wore a rusty black tweed suit, ugly black shoes that laced to the ankle, and a monstrous green hat with mouldy-looking ostrich feathers sticking out in every direction.

Hermione hung the cloak away in the cupboard and moved to sit across from Severus' great aunt. Her smile felt a little frozen on her face; she wondered how long this would take, and if she would be back at Hogwarts in time for supper. 'I'm sorry Severus couldn't be here,' she said. 'It's so near the end of term, and he has so much marking to catch up on …'

The beady black eyes surveyed her shrewdly. 'What on earth would we want _him_ for?' Great Aunt Seraphina demanded. 'Men are useless in matters concerning the home and family.'

Hermione pressed her lips together, determined not to argue with the old woman, although she felt Great Aunt Seraphina's views on most things belonged in the nineteenth century. 'Was there something in particular you wished to discuss?' she asked deferentially.

Severus' old relative opened her large handbag and removed a tiny parcel; one tap of her short, rigid wand and the package became much larger. Wordlessly, Great Aunt Seraphina held out the parcel to Hermione, who accepted it, noting that it was squishy.

Next the old woman removed her jade cigarette holder from her handbag, along with her Muggle cigarettes and her charmed ashtray. She placed a fag between her lips, lipsticked an unflattering crimson to match her fingernails, and lit the cigarette with the tip of her wand. She sucked nicotine into her lungs, her sharp eyes moving from the parcel to Hermione's face.

'Aren't you going to open it?' she demanded.

'Of course,' Hermione replied, reflecting that the old witch always made her feel wrong-footed. She tore open the paper, finding a blanket, woven of the softest yellow wool she had ever felt. 'How lovely!' she said with complete sincerity, stroking the fabric.

Great Aunt Seraphina tapped ash into the tray, which promptly caused the ash to disappear. 'It's hand-made,' she observed with satisfaction.

Hermione glanced at the gnarled hands holding the smoking accoutrements and said doubtfully, 'Did you …?'

The old woman snorted and took another drag on the fag. 'Good heavens, no,' she said. 'Quirk's grandmother knitted it,' she added. 'There are no finer elf-knit items in all of Britain than those things made by old Knack.'

'Thank you,' Hermione said, setting the blanket aside.

'Just another item for the nursery,' the old woman commented blandly.

Hermione declined to reiterate for the umpteenth time that there were no plans at present to make use of the well-furnished nursery Great Aunt Seraphina had seen fit to equip over two years before.

Great Aunt Seraphina finished smoking her cigarette and dropped it into the magical ashtray, which promptly caused it to disappear. Then she stowed her smoking things back into her handbag and turned her attention to Hermione. 'What do you know of your husband's childhood?' she asked abruptly.

Hermione blinked. What an odd question! 'I know it wasn't a pleasant one,' she said. 'Frankly, ma'am, he's scarcely spoken of it, and I don't like to pry.'

'And what do you know of his parents?' the old woman continued, watching her closely.

Hermione shrugged. 'His father was unkind and his mother was …'

'Weak!' the other witch cried, a flash of impatience on her hawkish face. 'Unforgivably so – she failed to protect her child.'

Hermione nodded, her heart touched with pain at the thought of young Severus' plight. 'He permitted me, at the very beginning of our relationship, to enter his mind and to view his memories – but, to be honest, ma'am, I wasn't as curious about his childhood as I was about his association with Voldemort.'

Great Aunt Seraphina winced at the mention of the name, sending Hermione a glare of reproof. 'A person with sense,' she said in a manner of rebuke, 'would realise that the experiences of the child mould the choices of the man.'

Hermione made no attempt to defend herself; she knew the old lady was correct. 'Why do you ask about this now, ma'am?' she inquired.

Great Aunt Seraphina opened her handbag for the third time and removed another tiny item; this time, a touch of her wand produced a good-sized cardboard box, tattered and worn in appearance. An impatient jerk of her head indicated that she wanted Hermione to take the box; Hermione took it and placed it on the coffee table.

'Severus never had much when he was a boy,' his great aunt said, her voice sounding somewhat dreamy, as if she were lost in the past. 'His father was a wastrel and spent every piece of gold he could lay his hands on upon himself. But boys have a way of finding treasures, sometimes in spite of the adults in their lives.'

Hermione resumed her seat, eyeing the box on the table between them.

'He had very little,' Great Aunt Seraphina continued, 'but the things he _did_ have he had little interest in taking with him to Hogwarts. The last time his mother brought him to see me before he went away to school was the summer he was eleven, and he brought this box to me. "They're my baby things," he told me, sounding all grown up for such a stringy little thing.'

Hermione found herself mesmerised by the story related to her by the old witch, clearly visualising a thin little black-haired boy on a visit to his great aunt. The old woman's voice had taken on a warmth Hermione had never heard from her before, and she realised that Seraphina Snape had loved her nephew's only child, and that she loved him still. Tears started to Hermione's eyes, and the other witch continued with her story.

'So Severus brought his treasures to me – the things he did not wish to take with him to Hogwarts, but which he also did not care to leave where his father could find them.' Great Aunt Seraphina brought her chin up proudly, in contradiction of the next words she uttered. 'I'm ashamed to say it, Hermione, but my nephew was the type of man who would destroy his own son's few precious belongings out of sheer spite.' She pointed her wand at the cardboard box, and the folded flaps moved to reveal the contents. 'This box was discovered when an old, forgotten cupboard was cleared out by my house-elves. I decided to bring it to you, rather than to your husband – it will do you good to better understand the boy he was – and to come to comprehend the father he will wish to be.'

Hermione stood from her chair, neglecting to glance into the box, and went to kneel upon the old Axminster rug beside Great Aunt Seraphina's chair. 'Thank you, ma'am,' she said, taking the old woman's knotted hands into hers and pressing her fingers gently, looking up into the harsh face with genuine affection for the first time in their acquaintance. How could she fail to be fond of someone who had loved the boy Severus, however imperfectly she may have done so?

For a fleeting instant, the old woman looked her age, her black eyes glistening with unshed tears. Then the moment passed, and she pulled away from Hermione, saying querulously, 'Can we not have a cup of tea?'

* * *

When Great Aunt Seraphina had gone, Hermione carried the soft yellow baby shawl up the stairs to the nursery, the cardboard carton floating along behind her. The shawl matched the cheerful yellow walls of the nursery exactly; Hermione draped it along the rail of the white baby cot and admired the effect. Then she seated herself in the nursery rocking chair, upon the cushions of cream and gold, and examined the contents of eleven-year-old Severus' treasure box.

She saw at once that the size of the box owed to the presence of the teddy bear, which sat upright on one side of the container. The box was by no means full; a few other things littered the bottom of it, but it was the teddy bear – unquestionably the _youngest_ item of them all – thatfirst drew Hermione's attention.

She lifted the bear from the box.

Standing, the teddy was a little more than a foot tall. The original colour of his mohair-like fur had apparently been a pewter grey, but he had been well-loved to a dingier shade. His head and limbs were jointed, and a button was sewn into his ear. On the pads of his paws were soft leather patches. There were places where his fur was quite sparse, but overall, he quite a well-preserved bear.

'Hullo,' Hermione said to him, then she set him to one side and surveyed the remaining items. There was a stack of perhaps ten well-thumbed wizarding comic books about a seemingly normal family who would leap upon their brooms and fly away at a moment's notice to fight the forces of evil. Beneath the pre-pubescent comic books were a series of worn picture books, meant for a younger child, with delightful moving illustrations of magical baby animals, such as unicorns and hippogriffs and dragons. Moving the books disturbed the raggedy canvas pouch in the corner, which, when opened, proved to hold an equally ragged set of Gobstones. Beside the Gobstones was a toy carriage harnessed to a team of the great winged palomino horses, Abraxans; the carriage was missing a wheel. In another corner resided a heavy glass flagon, containing what Hermione surmised to have once been an animal egg of some sort, though the pickling fluid had long since evaporated, and the gelatinous mass on the bottom of the flagon was impossible to identify. It did, however, bring to mind the numerous jars and containers on the shelves lining her husband's office, full of many zoological specimens, pickled in a rainbow of magical potions.

Wrapped in a disintegrating bit of old towel was a length of wood, which had been lovingly polished to a high gleam; it did not take much imagination to see that this had been the boy Severus' toy wand. It nestled within a cracked toy cauldron, amidst several small containers of powder and sludge thathad undoubtedly once been part of a toy potions set, reminiscent of the chemistry set Hermione had been given on her tenth Christmas.

But it was the bear thatdrew her eye, and she picked it up again, considering the emotion thatwould have driven the boy Severus to take this soft toy to the refuge of the one adult he trusted, before he embarked on his adventure of going to Hogwarts. Was it a sentimental affection – or had it been more of a serious sense of responsibility thathad urged the boy to take his precious things to a safe haven? She could understand his disinclination to take these things to Hogwarts – she could vividly remember resisting her mother's suggestions of taking her own dolls and teddy bear with her to the magical boarding school. She had reckoned it was going to be difficult enough to be a witch from a non-magical family without showing up with a trunkful of babyish toys! But she could see a very serious-minded Severus planning his escape from an unhappy home to the haven of the magical school, down to making provisions for his favourite belongings.

Sitting in the room meant for her own children with Severus, holding his childhood teddy bear to her heart, Hermione allowed herself to feel her longing to be holding her own baby to her breast. Seeing all of her friends with babies of their own had stirred to a steady flame the sleeping embers of her maternal desires. It puzzled her a bit, this seemingly sudden desire to have a baby. She had been perfectly content with the very loose agreement she and Severus had made in the beginning of their love – that 'maybe someday' they would have a child or two – but having recently seen her taciturn husband in company with a roomful of babies, she was beginning to realise that 'maybe someday' could easily become 'maybe never.' In all their time together, they had never had a more in-depth discussion about the possibilities of a family – and Hermione recognised, with a sinking heart, that as long as she permitted 'maybe someday' to be the last word in their non-discussion of having a baby, then no resolution of the dilemma would ever be found.

With a wrench of wanting that felt as if it emanated from her very womb, Hermione doubled over the teddy bear in her arms with tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks. She would have to bring it up to Severus – would have to risk the possibility of his flat 'never' – or, worse yet, have the doubtful felicity of his acquiescence for _her_ sake, with no true desire of his own to hold his own son or daughter in his arms.

'Maybe someday' had been the logical choice for them when their love was new and The Enchantment had driven all thought from their minds but nearness to one another – but now, the primal pull of her desire to feel the flutter of new life growing within her body overrode all reason – she would have to approach him about it.

But when?

* * *

Severus set aside the completed stack of marked parchment and stretched, inconveniencing the cat in his lap.

'I beg your pardon,' he drawled to the sleek black cat who leapt down from his legs, to exit his study with her tail straight up in the air.

Bast's only reply was a disdainful, 'Mrow,' as she departed.

Severus followed his familiar into the sitting room, where he found her curled up on the couch with her mate, Hermione's furry ginger cushion, called Crookshanks. The two of them watched him with half-lidded feline indifference as he moved into the tiny kitchen – where he halted in the doorway, dumbstruck by the sight of the old teddy bear residing in the middle of the small kitchen table.

'Mr Alister,' he said, his voice sounding young and full of wonder. He took the teddy bear into his hands with a gentleness bordering on reverence, and lifted the glassy-eyed face level with his own. 'Where did you come from?' he wondered aloud, his large hands dwarfing the creature that had once seemed much bigger to him.

He sat at the table, his attention fixed on the teddy bear he had slept with every night of his life until he had packed it away with his other things, at the age of eleven, to take to safety at his Great Aunt Seraphina's house. There had been no guarantee his father would not go into his room whilst he was away at school and destroy everything in sight in a fit of temper.

Curious, he manipulated each of the bear's jointed limbs. 'You're in prime shape, aren't you, Bear?' he said conversationally.

The bear mouth returned no answer, but it wasn't necessary; he knew quite well how Mr Alister felt on matters of importance. Had his mother not whispered to him when he was very small that Alister was a Greek name, signifying 'Protector' – and had not Mr Alister indeed protected him all through his childhood?

'I see you found him.'

Severus turned to see Hermione standing in the kitchen doorway. He felt a bit foolish, but there was no sign of amusement or ridicule upon her face. She came forward and sat down beside him.

He replaced the teddy bear in the middle of the kitchen table and said, 'I suppose Great Aunt Seraphina brought him to you?'

Hermione nodded. 'He was in a box with a number of your other things, but I left the box at Enchanté, in the nursery. I thought you might like to see how well the bear had fared, though.'

'Yes, it's good to see the stasis charm the old dragon put on the box preserved him so well,' he agreed, striving for an even tone. He stood smoothly, turning his back on Mr Alister. 'I have a cauldron on the fire,' he commented as he paused in the doorway, 'I'll just check in on it and meet you in the Great Hall for dinner, all right?'

'Of course,' Hermione agreed, watching her fearless husband flee this treacherous trigger of his childhood memories. She took the bear – Mr. Alister – into her arms again and remembered the whole different demeanour about Severus when he had seen his old toy. For an instant, when he had greeted the bear by name, she had instinctively known that he was feeling again the comfort Mr Alister had brought to his youth.

_I am a sentimental wreck today_ , she thought as a further ache of emotion coiled within her. Was she feeling compassion for the sad child her husband had been, or was she feeling a longing to hold his son and to make sure their child would never be so bereft?

Hermione took the teddy bear from the kitchen table and put it upon a bookshelf, where it could not be spoilt by accidental tea spills or jam smears, then went to bathe the evidence of her tears from her face before going to meet with her husband in the Great Hall.

* * *

December announced itself with nasty sleeting, which kept the students underfoot and chafed Severus' usually ill temper to the boiling point. Hermione watched him as the days passed, wondering when _would_ be a good time to approach him with discussion about a baby, but he seemed to be irritated more often than usual, so she waited.

The morning of the Yule Ball, just before the students were to be set loose for the holidays, the Snapes were at breakfast in the Great Hall when they received a frantic note from Luna Weasley by owl post.

Hermione opened the parchment and read it while Severus watched her. When she did not promptly announce the purpose of the letter, he said peevishly, 'Well? What does Miss Lovegood want?'

'Weasley, Severus,' Hermione corrected him without looking up from the parchment. She finished reading and tucked the letter beneath her plate of toast before reaching for the pumpkin juice and pouring some into her cup. 'Could you pass the bacon, please?' she asked politely, smiling a morning greeting to Filius Flitwick and Pomona Sprout as they seated themselves at the breakfast table.

Severus passed the plate of bacon. 'What does Mrs Weasley want?' he tried again.

Hermione began to eat her bacon and eggs. 'You know that the Headmaster has instituted a program of inviting former students to attend the Yule Ball and to act as chaperones? Well, Luna's babysitter had to cancel for tonight – a bad case of dragon pox, apparently – and Luna is writing to ask if we will take her and Ron's place chaperoning the ball, tonight.'

Severus placed his cup in its saucer precipitately enough to splash tea on the tablecloth. 'No!' he said with some force. 'This is the first year in _memory_ that I have not been called upon to chaperone at the damned Yule Ball – I will _not_ take their place!'

Hermione began to spread jam on her toast. 'Well, all right – but if we don't take their place chaperoning, the least we can do is offer to keep baby Diana.'

Severus eyed his wife suspiciously. 'What would that entail, exactly?' he demanded.

'Babysitting, Severus,' she said patiently. 'We would look after Diana whilst her parents chaperone the ball, and then they will take her home.'

'The ball is from eight until midnight,' he said, frowning. 'So the baby would only be with us for that long?' He seemed to relax and began to eat his eggs again. 'How much trouble can it be in only four hours?'

Hermione resisted the urge to correct his pronoun usage and reflected it was simply a lucky thing that she would be able to tell Luna she could help out, at all.

* * *

That night, Severus was happily ensconced in his study, reading a bit of Dickens, simply for pleasure. Hermione had been in the sitting room playing with the baby, and now she had put it to sleep in some sort of travelling baby basket. The ball was going on above, and _he_ was not there – no, Lupin was on chaperone duty this year – what could be better?

Until, of course, the pounding at the door came.

He strode into the sitting room to find Hermione kneeling on the floor, speaking to one of his first-years – Ophelia Brown, if memory served. The child was tear-streaked and distressed. Usually, the Prefects handled these types of issues, but all the Prefects were at the damned Ball. Bugger!

Miss Brown allowed Hermione to dry her face, then scampered out the door whilst Hermione headed for the bathroom.

'What's the problem?' he asked resignedly.

'Ophelia has got her period,' Hermione answered him, emerging from the bath with some sort of feminine product under her arm. 'I'll be back as soon as I can.'

Severus extended an arm to prevent her from passing him. 'You can't leave me alone with that!' he said, indicating the basket holding the peacefully sleeping Diana.

Hermione pursed her lips and studied him for a moment. 'All right,' she said. 'I'll stay here with the baby, and you can go instruct Ophelia in how to use a sanitary towel.'

'Don't be ridiculous!' he snorted. 'That's why the school employs a matron, Hermione. Send the child to the hospital wing.'

'Madam Pomfrey is at the Ball,' Hermione reminded him. 'Don't you remember? It's the first time in ten years that she's been able to attend, because there are no patients in the hospital wing.'

Severus stared at her, a terrible scowl on his face. Dammit! Did he want to take care of an eleven-year-old suffering her first menses, or a sleeping baby? Why the hell should he ever have to _make_ such a decision?

'Very well,' he snarled.

Hermione touched his arm gently as she passed him. 'I'll try to hurry, but you know how girls can be …'

Thankfully, he _did_ know how menstrually-compromised girls could be, and he had no wish to experience that particular torture this night. Heaving a huge, put-out sigh, he went into the study to retrieve his book. As he wielded his wand to extinguish the candles, he heard the baby wake and begin to cry.

BUGGER.

Moving back into the sitting room, he found Bast, sitting beside the basket full of crying baby, looking at him reproachfully.

'I didn't make it cry!' he defended himself, striding across the floor and staring down at the red-faced, flailing scrap of humanity.

Bast decided to add her voice to that of the squalling infant, and soon the two were dueting in an acute counterpoint guaranteed to replace the Dementor's Kiss as capital punishment in the wizarding world.

'All right!' he hissed, and gingerly, he lifted baby Diana from her basket, holding her beneath her armpits whilst her bootie-clad feet kicked in time with her cries. 'What seems to be the problem?' he said, attempting to cradle the screamer as he had seen people do with babies.

But baby Diana was having none of it. Her eyes were screwed shut, her face was the colour of a Gryffindor jumper, and Severus rather thought he could see the child's tonsils down her throat. For the love of Merlin, she was loud!

How else had he seen people hold babies? He pulled her to his chest and began to pace the room, one arm hooked under her bum, the other hand patting her on the back as he had seen Hermione do earlier. How did people with infants avoid deafness?

'I do not see what you have to complain about,' he said in his schoolroom voice. 'Hermione put on a fresh nappy and fed you before she put you in your basket.'

There was a slight diminution in the flailing and the volume of the screeching. Encouraged, he continued. 'It is generally considered to be good manners to be thankful for a bit of feeding and petting,' he pointed out. 'Where would the world be if the fawned-over just continued demanding more and more?'

He smirked. Wasn't that the actual state of the world? Warming to his subject, he went on, 'I can't imagine your mother, who has more good sense than one might think on first acquaintance, would permit you to get away with that sort of nonsense.'

He was on his tenth lap of the small living area of their quarters when it dawned on him that the caterwauling had come to an end. If Nimüe were smiling upon him, the little twit would be asleep again. He continued to pace, relaxing his grip on the creature just a bit. She was obviously not going to squirt out of his hold like a Snargaluff seed out of its pod, so it was undoubtedly safe to relax his arms.

A friendly gurgle from the region of his shoulder informed him that baby Diana was not asleep, but was awake, and desirous of communion. Tentatively, he lifted her higher on his shoulder, and was rewarded by alert grey eyes and a soft cooing noise.

'Yes,' he said, 'a definite improvement on your part. An adequate transition,' he added, feeling as if the cessation of unnerving noise deserved particular praise.

In answer, his companion reached the hand that had lately been shoved into her mouth and damply grasped his nose, the act once again accompanied by a squeal of self-satisfaction.

He glared at her. 'I suppose you're proud of yourself,' he said, careful not to infuse too much acidity into his tone.

Diana gurgled her agreement and exchanged one damp hand for the other, giving his nose a good squeeze, as if expecting it to squeak.

Severus pried the offending appendage from his face. 'We obviously need to find a more rewarding activity for you,' he said, turning his face away from her so she could not reach him and beginning to walk around the room again. 'What would you like to hold?'

He was alarmed when his burden lurched to one side, as if attempting to reach for something. He readjusted his hold on her then glanced over his shoulder to see what she was fixated on.

One-year-old Diana Weasley was reaching for Mr Alister, who was seated on a bookshelf right on level with Severus' shoulder. Did he want wet baby fingers on his bear? For that matter, did he want wet baby fingers on his _face_? With a sigh of resignation, he picked the bear up. 'The bear interests you, does he?' he murmured.

Baby Diana received Mr Alister into her enthusiastic arms and gave the bear a whole-hearted hug. Severus could not prevent the grin that spread across his face. He had done the same thing a time or two himself, if memory served.

He seated himself in his favourite armchair and sat the baby on his lap, her back securely situated in the crook of one arm; in the opposite hand, he held Mr Alister so she could see him, and he moved the bear a bit as he spoke in a musing voice.

'Do you have a bear, Miss Weasley?' he asked conversationally. 'Every child should have a bear; I am a firm believer.'

Diana shoved a fist in her mouth and entertained herself by alternately petting the teddy bear and tilting her head back to look up at Severus' face.

'You know, Mr Alister, I thought I might have one of these, one day,' he said, inclining his head gently towards the baby, as if to make himself clear to the bear.

Bast approached him, apparently mollified now that the baby was no longer crying, and she leapt onto the arm of the chair opposite Diana. Severus slanted her a look of indignation. 'Oh, _now_ you come around,' he said. 'Where were you when I needed aid?'

Bast flicked her tail and did not deign to respond, her china-blue eyes fixed on the baby.

'You've had babies,' he said to his familiar. 'You made it look easy. Well,' he amended, after a moment's reflection, 'aside from the disappearing and exploding into flames, your offspring turned out all right.'

Diana made a lunge for Bast, perhaps mistaking her for a soft toy, as well. Bast leapt down from the chair and sauntered off, seemingly having satisfied her curiosity. Severus allowed Diana to grab Mr Alister, a consolation prize for being denied a handful of kitty, and watched with a slight grimace of distaste as she attempted to put the bear into her mouth.

'Do you think it's wise to put that in your mouth?' he inquired of the child, reflecting that it was a good thing the baby was such a poor aim; at this rate, it would take her all night to manoeuvre the teddy's arm or leg into her maw.

'I shall have to procure a fresh teddy for my child,' he decided. 'Mr Alister deserves a peaceful retirement.'

Baby Diana turned to look up at him again, suddenly solemn. 'Not that I'm going to _have_ a child,' he said hurriedly, as if Diana were questioning his avowal. 'Hermione is far too busy with her career to be bothered with motherhood, just now.'

At that moment, the door opened and Hermione came in. She was instantly diverted by the tableau before her. Wreathed in smiles, she advanced into the room, coming to kneel down on the floor and to smile and speak in soft tones to the baby. 'Look at Professor Snape and the next generation,' she said, darting a gleam at her suddenly stony-looking husband. 'Why on earth did you pick her up?'

He bristled. 'Could you not hear her blood-curdling screams from the Slytherin common room?' he demanded, now allowing his usual sarcastic tone into his voice.

Baby Diana held her arms out to Hermione, who plucked the baby from Severus' lap. He promptly stood and strode over the bookcase, placing Mr Alister once again out of harm's way.

Hermione spoke to Diana in a sing-song, nonsense tone. 'Were you crying while I was gone? Whatever for?' She watched Severus place his old teddy bear on the shelf with careful precision. 'Why did you let her have your bear? She has a whole bagful of her own baby toys.'

Severus glared at his wife. 'Pardon me if I was not thinking about baby bags when the little harpy was screaming fit to bring the castle walls down,' he snapped.

He retreated into affronted silence on the sofa, his attention seemingly glued to the book in his hands, while he watched from behind the curtain of his long black hair as his wife interacted with the small person. At last, the Weasleys were standing in the sitting room in their dress robes, gathering all of the baby's innumerable bits of paraphernalia into the bag that Severus had failed to remember in the doubtful excitement of having a screaming child in his arms. He stood and moved behind Hermione to see the Weasleys out. At the door, Luna Weasley turned and said to her daughter, 'Say bye-bye to Hermione and the professor, Diana.'

Diana looked directly into Severus' eyes and held up one baby hand, deftly managing to open and close her little fist twice, in a parody of a wave. That she had her hand pointed toward her own face, and had effectively said 'bye-bye' to herself, hardly seemed to matter to the women, who exclaimed over the baby's cleverness.

Weasley met Severus' eyes over the heads of their cooing wives and said, 'That's the first time she ever did that,' with such wonder in his voice that Severus felt a tiny twinge of something he would only identify as envy under the cover of darkness, holding his sleeping wife and contemplating fatherhood.

* * *

Hermione woke early on the morning after the Yule Ball, a soft _Lumos_ igniting the candles nearest the bed. Severus slept on at her side, his face strangely young in repose, unguarded and peaceful. She thought of the night before, walking into their rooms to find him sitting in his favourite chair with a baby on his knee, at his ease, looking … _right_ – to his wife's eyes. She could so clearly see him, now, with _their_ baby in his arms, and the wanting swept over her again, an ache so deep and primordial that her hands fell to her lower abdomen, as if to cradle her empty womb.

Tears started to her eyes, but she forced them back, slipping from the bed and padding into the bathroom for a shower. The students would leave this morning, and then she and Severus would go to Enchanté for the Christmas hols. Surely, snuggled up before the sitting room fire, with the Christmas tree twinkling with real fairies, she would find the courage to tell Severus she wanted a baby.

She _had_ to. The idea had taken firm root and would not be banished – and now her very happiness depended upon it.

* * *

The first Monday of the Christmas hols found Hermione and Severus in Diagon Alley, Christmas shopping. She had done a fine job of wheedling him into accompanying her, and he had let her coax him. He had meant to go with her anyway – it was heaven to have her all to himself, with no students to interrupt, and no work to pull either of them away from the other – but he was not above allowing himself to be coddled by his wife. Life ought to include far more moments of personalised coddling and far fewer moments of dealing with dunderheads, truth be told.

With her gloved hand tucked in his elbow, they strolled along the wizarding shopping district, enjoying the holiday decorations and displays in the windows. Hermione seemed a bit preoccupied, but when she looked at him, her expression was warm and loving, so he was not concerned.

'For whom are we shopping?' he asked her when they had strolled down to Knockturn Alley and turned back.

'I want to buy a little something for the children,' she answered.

He slanted a sardonic look into her face. 'All the children in existence or a particular set of children?' he inquired snidely.

Hermione turned a laughing look up into his face, and he was moved, as ever, by the beauty of her smile.

'I meant the Weasley grandchildren,' she scolded.

He blanched. 'All of them?' In addition to Diana and young James Potter, the Weasleys had a number of other grandchildren, the gene pool having been enriched by Bill and his French wife, Charlie and his Romanian wife, and the diabolical twins and their wives had produced one set of identical twins each. Severus never tried to keep up with how many there were; the number was constantly increasing, after all.

'We _will_ see them at the Burrow for Christmas lunch,' she pointed out. 'And I don't mean expensive gifts – some small thing for each of them, I would think ….'

Severus willingly followed her into Gladrags, wandering in her wake through the adult section of the store to the Wee Witch & Wizard Wing. Severus found himself diverted by a large display of teddy bears. Having recently become reacquainted with Mr Alister, he felt it was his duty to investigate the current teddy bear technology – what improvements had been made in the field of teddy bear construction since he had been a lad?

He picked up one or two of the finer specimens; he saw that not all teddy bears were jointed, as Mr Alister was; some were simply soft all over. He was sorry to see that the materials used to create these modern bears were inferior to those used to make his bear. It was a shame, really, that quality had to go down as society advanced.

He was distracted from his teddy bear audit by his wife, who had wandered away from him. Although she had assured him that she did not plan to purchase clothing for the child of every person they knew, she was drifting from display to display of tiny garments, seemingly entranced. Before his bemused eyes, she lifted a romper suit, first holding it up, then lifting it to her cheek and closing her eyes. She put that down and moved on to inspect a shiny pram, her fingertips exploring the padding within, as if to test for softness.

Wandering on from the prams, she paused before a display of maternity robes, tucked into a section of the baby wing, for the expectant mums. The robes did not hold much interest for her, apparently, for she moved past them to a rack of Muggle-style tee-shirts with clever sayings emblazoned on them. She plucked a Gryffindor-red shirt from the display and held it up, chortling softly. On the front in whimsical font were the words, 'Does this baby make me look fat?'

She replaced the shirt and moved on to a table spread with baby cot bedding in every shade of the rainbow, and she spent a long time examining many different sorts of sheets and shawls and tiny baby pillows. Next, she moved on to a display of booties and soft shoes. As he watched her, it was as if he was peering down a long, dark tunnel with a small light, growing larger by the second, heading straight at him. Frozen and blinded with wonder by this oncoming luminous object, he was struck head-on by the indisputable locomotive fact: His wife wanted a baby – she wanted _their_ baby. The elation that spread unexpectedly through him did not touch his face – his years of hiding every feeling and guarding every reaction had likely robbed him of the ability for spontaneous displays of emotion – but for a dizzy moment, gladness sang in his blood. He would have a son – an heir – and _damn_ if he would not be a good father! To _hell_ with the bastard who had begat him!

The euphoria was swiftly followed by a serious caveat: If she wanted a baby, why had Hermione not told him so? He had put his desires aside, in consideration for her – he was determined that she would have everything she wanted – and she had clearly wanted to succeed in her career. She had certainly attained that end in quite short order – perhaps that was why she was ready now to move onto another goal – but it did not explain why she had not _told_ him of her decision.

He frowned down at the bear he still held in his hands; it was a pastel-coloured teddy with a rainbow ribbon about its throat. Did she think _he_ would object to a baby? He wracked his brain for the conversations they had shared about it, for things he had communicated to her regarding his thoughts on parenthood. As he reviewed his memories, her reticence became very plain to him.

Leaving her in rapt contemplation of baby bags, he slipped to the front of the store and made a purchase, then disturbed her absorption with a collection of frilly bonnets and bore her away to lunch.

* * *

Hermione looked around in the quietly smart restaurant and took a sip of the festive wine Severus had ordered with their meal. They had dined on pheasant and were in a happy after-meal glow. She slipped one foot from her shoe and stretched her leg until her toes encountered his trousers leg. His gaze met hers across the table, and his eyes darkened with satisfaction as her stockinged foot stroked down his calf.

'Wine with lunch,' she said, 'and such an elegant lunch it is! Are you stacking the deck in your favour for afters?'

'Perhaps,' he allowed, studying her. 'I can't think of a better way to pass a holiday than in studious practice.'

Her trill of laughter pleased him; every positive reaction from her added another bit of mortar to the wall of security she had begun to build in him. She was such a gift – her advent into his life had started him down a path he had never dared to hope to tread – and the Enchantment added a facet to their relationship that raised them head and shoulders above the other couples of their acquaintance. It was not only love between them, but affinity, as if they took every breath as one. What could be more natural than for them to share that love with a child born of its fruition?

'And what do you want to practice?' she asked suggestively.

Reaching into his cloak pocket, Severus removed the pastel bear and placed it upon the table between them. Hermione became very still, her brown eyes round, her lovely face thoughtful. At last, she raised her eyes to his.

'You know,' she whispered.

He nodded. 'I know – and I concur.'

He was a bit unprepared for her sudden rush of tears, but he simply exited his side of their booth and slipped in beside her, putting a steadying arm about her shoulders and drying her face with his handkerchief.

'But you don't like babies,' she managed, her voice choked with tears.

'I will very much like _our_ babies,' he replied staunchly.

She blinked. 'B-babies?' she repeated, stressing the second syllable.

'Wasn't that the plan?' he inquired mildly. 'I did rummage about in your mind, if you'll recall, Pet – you want one girl and one boy.'

'You want a son,' she said. 'I remember – from the Mirror of Erised.'

One side of his mouth curved up. 'I want our child – the one we create from love,' he said simply. 'I'll take what we get – and the second time around, if you like, we can make conditions favourable for the gender we want.'

It was a rather esoteric field of study, but a Potions master certainly had at his disposal the knowledge of how to brew philtre to influence the womb to accept sperm bearing specific genetic markers. Hermione's lips curved into an answering smile. 'That's what I was thinking, exactly!' she said happily, her voice soft and wondering. 'That we'd take our chances the first time and influence the environment the next time.'

'Brilliant minds reach the same conclusions,' he told her. With a whimsical air that none save Hermione had ever witnessed, he said, 'When did you wish to begin this project?' A wicked gleam lit his dark eyes. 'I would want to clear my calendar to accommodate you, of course.'

Concern clouded her face. 'You're not saying this just to please me, are you? Just to _accommodate_ my wishes?'

He was touched by how bravely she offered him an out, in spite of her obvious burning desire to conceive. Solemnly, he shook his head. 'I suspect we have been travelling parallel trains of thought, each thinking the other was not quite ready to embark upon the adventure of parenthood just yet,' he told her.

Relief brought back her smile. 'Then I want to begin _now_!' she averred.

Severus made a show of looking all about the restaurant. 'Never let it be said I stood in the way of your happiness, Pet,' he said drolly. 'Here on the bench, or did you wish for me to take you on the tabletop, amidst the cutlery?'

She gurgled her laughter, and he felt as if he had the world in the palm of his hand.

'Not here, silly,' she said primly, her own wicked gleam belying her words. 'At home, of course.'

'When are you due to take your Potion, again?' he asked, moving one hand to cup her cheek and watching her tilt her head to allow him access to her throat.

She turned her half-lidded eyes, alive with passion, to his. 'Today,' she said huskily.

'And have you done so?' he asked, allowing his thumb to trace the contour of her full lower lip.

The tip of her pink tongue darted out to lave the pad of his thumb as she shook her head once.

'Then I suggest we go home and get started,' he murmured, feeling the desire building between them, the Enchantment synchronising even their reproductive instincts. 'If we are diligent in our efforts, you may return to Hogwarts in January in an interesting condition.'

Hermione picked up the small blue bear with pink ears, nose, and pads of its paws, and tucked it into her pocket, then she gave him a rather purposeful push. He smirked and stood, assisting her to rise before escorting her out into the street, where they could Disapparate to Enchanté.

* * *

Her hunger for him had not been this keen since the early weeks of their marriage, when the Enchantment had pounded in them with incessant force, causing them to join again and again, rapturously exploring the magic connexion that bound them. He was thankful for their holiday, and they both luxuriated in the new intimacy born of the decision to increase their family. Not a room in the house went unused as they industriously pursued impregnation. Quirk, the house-elf, tactfully cast revealing spells before entering any room, while Crookshanks and Bast simply watched them with knowing cat-eyes. Shopping for Christmas gifts went by the wayside; they had little interest in wandering far from their own home, content to lay wrapped in one another's arms into the long winter nights, with only the light of the fire witness to their tranquil waiting.

Ten days slipped past, and it was Christmas Day. Severus lay back upon his pillow, sweaty and panting, one arm thrown over his eyes as Hermione curved against his side, humming.

'I like all this practice,' she purred.

'You'll likely shag me into an early grave, minx,' he said, opening his eyes and looking into her glowing face. 'I can think of no better way to cross the Veil,' he added. 'I swear you grow more luscious with every passing day. You've never been more delicious.' His long tongue darted out, as if to savour again the essence of her, upon which he had feasted until she had cried out.

She gave a self-satisfied smirk, an expression she had undoubtedly learnt from him, and pushed herself into a sitting position. 'You're just trying to talk me into another go, and we don't have time,' she informed him. 'We're expected at the Burrow for Christmas lunch at one – and it's after ten already.'

She swayed for a moment and he turned to her, a slight frown on his face. 'Are you all right?'

'Just dizzy for a second,' she assured him. 'If you promise to behave yourself, I'll let you wash my back in the shower.'

He sat up beside her, a furrow between his eyes. She literally tasted differently – and now she was dizzy. Perhaps…

He leant across her, picking up her wand and placing it in her hand.

'What?' she asked, giving him a puzzled look.

'Cast the diagnostic,' he said.

'I checked yesterday,' she reminded him. 'It's too soon – it's silly for us to be checking so often, anyway.'

'Humour me,' he insisted.

She stilled. 'You're serious.'

He nodded.

She swallowed. 'You do it – I think my hands are shaking.'

'Lie down,' he said, turning to pick up his wand.

* * *

Severus slipped into the nursery, fully dressed for their outing to the Burrow, his hair still damp from the shower. He walked past the pristine white baby cot with its soft yellow elf-knit shawl and approached the shelf on the wall, upon which Mr Alister sat in solitary state, a silent sentinel.

From his pocket, Severus withdrew the small pastel coloured bear and with infinite care, he settled the newcomer beside his old teddy.

'It's looks as if you're going to have some company,' he remarked to Mr Alister. His large hand passed gently over the thinning fur on his oldest friend, and inclining his head to the pastel bear, he said, 'Look after him, won't you?'

Hermione's bushy head came around the doorframe. 'Are you ready to go? We're going to be late!'

'Yes, dear,' he said and followed his wife from the room.

* * *

Promptly at one o'clock, they stood in the snow outside the Burrow, their arms laden with hampers of Christmas fare, Quirk's contribution to the Christmas lunch to come.

'Will you tell them or shall I?' Hermione asked shyly.

Severus looked down into her face, marvelling at her incandescence. 'I shall tell them, Pet,' he said, a half-smile on his face. 'It's a father's prerogative to brag.'

Hermione's glistening eyes brimmed over, and he let the hamper in his arms float in the air as he dried her face; pregnant women were known for fluctuating emotional states, were they not? If was a man's job to ride the waves with patience and to mop up the happiness along with the sadness, he supposed.

'Merry Christmas, Severus,' she managed in a tiny voice when he had her presentable again.

'Have I thanked you for my gift?' he murmured, pressing his hand to her tummy.

'Yes,' she breathed, covering his hand with her own. 'But you can thank me again when we get home – if you have the energy.'

Arthur and Molly Weasley opened the door to the rare sight of Severus Snape in an honest belly laugh, and they exchanged wondering looks before herding the Snapes into the bosom of their Christmas celebration.

It was a happy Christmas, indeed.


End file.
